Why can't we the people cause enough commotion to force the airlines to change?

Delta airline has possibly THE worst service of all the airlines. After today's travel debacle (and today isn't over as I am only in hour 1 of a 5 hour wait for my 'rebooked due to their incompetence' flight), I want to find a way to make Delta pay. And by pay, I mean, I want to figure out how to get every single American to boycott Delta airlines forever. Hurt them in the pocketbook. Hurt their image forever. Do I care about the employees who would lose their jobs? Nope. The employees are the ones who bring the company's incompetence to life. At some point, the only way to change incompetency is for it to significantly hurt those who are causing it and Americans generally feel pain earliest and hardest when it hits their income stream.

The problem is how to get everyone to avoid Delta Airlines. The airline system today puts consumers, you and me, at the mercy of the airline. We don't have efficient choices any more, heck, half the time we don't have choices at all.

I, the average flier, who represent the masses of people like me who have had bad airline experience don't get a voice on Good Morning America or The Today Show to be visibly vocal about how incompetent the airlines are. There is no point in calling or writing letters, the airlines don't change. The only way to make them change is to pick one (can't pick them all, remember, because we are at their mercy if we need to travel) and make that one airline the scapegoat for all their airlines. And I have picked Delta.

Sorry Delta but your incompetency infuriated me so much today that you are the airline I want most to see fail and to see fail overnight.

What justice that would be if suddenly tomorrow NO ONE booked any more flights on Delta. Then that gate agent who took more than 10 minutes to remember to open our plane's door will be really sorry they forgot their job was to service their client (otherwise known as us). Then that gate agent who wouldn't let me on the plane that was still connected to the end of the jet bridge would realize that perhaps they shouldn't only follow 'the rules' when it was convenient for the airline. Then perhaps the customer service agent who gave me a $7 meal voucher (when was the last time someone could get a meal at an airport for $7?!?) would realize that customer service means more than handing someone a slip of paper in the hopes that it will make me go away.

I would really like to see the American public force Delta to collapse.

Then maybe airlines in general will understand what they are really supposed to be doing for paying customers.

Homemade doll clothes. My doll was Christine (I always thought my aunt named my younger cousin after my Christine doll). She had long auburn hair, just like mine, but she had far more elegant apparel than I possessed. That's because her tailor was Grandma Gert. Grandma Gert made Christine a white satin wedding dress so she could pretend she was getting married to her imaginary boyfriend (imaginary because I had no boy dolls except Raggedy Andy and he was taken already). Christine also had a harlot-red satin evening gown...harlot in color only as the design was quite modest as one would expect from Grandma Gert. Grandma Gert didn't seem to be making herself any white or red satin clothing so I don't know how Christine ended up being the fortunate recipient of such elegance. I mean, even I knew that Christine couldn't afford first run fabric: all her clothes were designed and made out of remnants that Grandma Gert some how had access to. But she was by far the best dressed doll in the house, and probably even on the block.

By comparison, Gertrude, my other doll who, due to my love of scissors, sported a choppy mohawk also wore tailor made clothes but hers were far less sophisticated than Christine's were. Perhaps that was due to the difference in tailors (Gertrude's tailor was my mother Margaret), but I suspect it had more to do with the difference in their body styles: Christine was tall, long waisted, with long legs and flat feet. Gertrude was stocky with chubby legs, a baby belly and virtually no neck. Gertrude mostly hung out in a white and blue cotton housedress with matching bloomers...not quite the satin ensembles in Christine's wardrobe.

They would sit on my bed: Christine dressed to the nines in her wedding gown, Gertrude comfy in her bathrobe and bloomers with an old hairpiece of Grandma Gert's stuck into her mohawk to make her seem more lady like. Each much loved in their homemade doll clothes

String beans. When I think about Grandma Gert I think about string beans. A wooden chair, a brown grocery bag and a pot filled with string beans. Snap! Snap! Puuulllll. DroP. Repeat.
What exactly is the difference between a green bean and a string bean, besides green beans coming in tin cans and string beans coming in piles from the produce section. I buy string beans now because they remind me of Grandma Gert. Sometimes they will rot in the vegetable drawer of the icebox and I will end up throwing them out without having performed the ritual Snap! Snap! Puullll. DroP. Repeat. It isn't that I don't like to eat them; I love string beans. Mostly I just forget that I bought them because I didn't purchase them with a plan in mind for including them in a meal; only because they remind me of Grandma Gert.