I sincerely hope that Delta Airlines keeps better track of its maintenance records and pilot drug tests than it does Delta SkyMiles members. Nearly 20 years ago, a friendly relationship I enjoyed with Atlanta-based Delta came to an abrupt end. I had amassed well over a million miles on Delta, but suffice it to say I was less than impressed with the company’s indifference to several customer service issues in rapid succession. So I sent them a strongly worded Dear Wilbur and Orville letter, switched my airline allegiance, taxied off to a different concourse, and never looked back. Until now.
I haven’t set another foot on a Delta jetway, and have no plans to do so. But, by golly, I have to hand them one thing: Delta marketers are relentless. Promotional mailings have followed me all these years, through two address changes and despite a zero percent response rate.
Old pals from Delta update my account and remind me I still have zero miles toward purchase of travel pillows, eye shades and domestic upgrades from back-of-the-bus to grunge class. It offers me Gold MasterCards, Titanium Visas and puke green Amex plastic. Glam vacations to safe-haven ocean resorts surrounded by MS13 and El Chappo are hawked. Proud announcement is made of an inch added to legroom and a rock-solid commitment to try pretty hard to hold the line on luggage fees until at least a week from Tuesday.
I have a confession to make: Until today, I hadn’t looked closely at an envelope from Delta for close to 10 years. So in the interest of accuracy and journalistic integrity I opened one. Sure enough, it showed I have a zero mile balance, but then offered me 35,000 big ones just for ordering a credit card with a $95 annual fee and an APR that blew my calculator battery.
Hey, Delta: Thanks for the love, but please stop writing. I still don’t like you, and I don’t want whatever you’re selling.