Now, I know better than to put this “out there.” It means my pass-riding days are over. And trust me, I do fear the Delta Gods. But there is something that only members of the Delta Royal Family share and it’s time the rest of you knew.
I have a kinship with fellow Delta Brats that I didn’t discover until college. See, we’ve been socialized to keep this lifestyle to ourselves. Now I know why.
I realize that people will not feel sorry for me when they know that my complaints relate directly to my lifetime of free flights, often in First Class. Okay, I’ll admit it; it sounds petty to gripe about the rules when you’re getting something for free. Still, it’s time the truth is told about my childhood and Delta Airlines.
One important note, in case you Delta Spies are reading this and want to tell me that things have changed: I know things have changed. I still ride on pass, albeit a three-cents-a-mile version of the pass, and I know that now things aren’t as strict, but the past did still happen the way I remember it, and it must be exposed!
When I was a child, even a teenager, taking a Delta flight meant putting on my Sunday Best. A nice dress, uncomfortable shoes, and always, always pantyhose. The idea behind the dress code is simple: We want those who fly Delta to appear as classy as the airline itself. If we can control the appearance of a percentage of the passengers, the other passengers may begin to show up in clothing other than ripped up jeans and flip-flops. Yeah, that’s logical.
Well, when you’re riding on a pass card, you know you might not get on the plane at all. You fly “space-available” and that means you only get on the plane if there’s a seat not occupied by a paying customer. This is why I often end up in First Class – those are the seats that don’t sell out, generally. Okay, but since I’m basically in competition with my fellow pass-riders for those coveted empty seats, I like to size up my competition. Here’s how: one of my favorite games to play at the gate is Pick the Pass Riders. It’s an easy game. You just look around the gate and sift through the sweat-pants-wearing, backpack-carrying, Walkman-listening passengers to find the suits, the ties, the dresses, the pantyhose, and you’ve found your comrades.
Not that you could ever talk to them. My dad made it perfectly clear that we were never to speak about our “free ride” to anyone. And as I meet fellow Delta Brats as adults, I find we share stories of our terror that anyone would find out we were flying for free, our experiences with getting “bumped” in strange cities, being told there were no meals left for us to eat on long flights, and how we were all taught that you never, never ring the Flight Attendant bell. NO MATTER WHAT.
Of course, I’ve now begun talking with my fellow pass-riders to compare stories of woe. Again, I know no one will feel sorry for me here, since these stories of woe come as a result of flying for free everywhere. Okay, okay, get past that and just imagine this experience.
I was in college, feeling bold, and visiting a friend for the weekend. I checked in at the ticket window wearing a sweater, skirt, leggings, and boots (hey, it was 1989 – this was accepted fashion). A Delta agent approached me, walkie-talkie in hand, and escorted me to a tiny room off the main terminal. “I know you must have pantyhose in your bag,” he said, and closed me in the room while he waited outside for me to change. I’m not sure what was wrong with leggings. I mean, my ankles were not exposed in any way. But, I dutifully changed into the black pantyhose I’d tucked into my carry-on bag and emerged from this secret room for a final inspection from the plain-clothed Delta agent.
“Okay,” he said. “That’s better.” And with that, he disappeared. I’m not sure if he lurked behind a nearby plant to know that I was a pass rider or if the ticket agent pressed some secret Dress Code Button, but I was humiliated, just the same. I understand that we’re looking for a “classy” thing with this dress code, but COME ON!
Maybe Delta and L’eggs had some sort of corporate deal that no one knows about. Whatever. Point is, I’m almost positive that the relaxed dress code is not a result of years of research showing that extreme over-dressed-ness does NOT contribute to the improved look of those paying full fare but instead is a direct result of the end of the corporate deal Delta made with L’eggs in 1950. Look it up! I bet I’m right. Okay, maybe not, but still, think about it the next time you check in at the ticket counter and see some guy with a walkie-talkie, checking out your wardrobe.