Mr. Glenn F. Tilton
Chairman, President and Chief Executive Officer
UAL Corporation
P.O. Box 66100
Chicago, IL 60666

Re: Las Vegas to Chicago

Dear Mr. Tilton

On July 3, 2004, my son and I were scheduled to fly from Las Vegas to Chicago on "Ted" Flight 1574. The line for curbside check-in was very long, so I decided to take my chances on checking in on the inside of the terminal. I went to one of the eTicketing computer terminals and very soon had my boarding passes. Still having to check my luggage, I turned to see if there was an available agent.

There were a few.

Then there was the line for the rest of the world, and it looked like this:

Let me remark that there was NO ONE in either line.

I will repeat that, because it bears repeating:

THERE WAS NO ONE IN EITHER LINE.

I doubt that I made more than a momentary twitch of a muscle toward Line A. Indeed, very little beyond the flicker of an eye in the direction of Line A betrayed the fleeting thought of my intent to instigate the great McCarran International Airport Rebellion of 2004 by walking my economy class worthlessness down the highly coveted First Class corridor of dreams.

I was promptly confronted by an official of "Ted."

Let me pause here for just a moment and mention in passing my introduction to "Ted."

On the flight from Chicago to Las Vegas the Monday before, I listened to the in-flight safety instructions that were liberally sprinkled with references to "Ted" as if "Ted" was my jolly old fat uncle who showed up every Thanksgiving and Christmas and on birthdays and other holidays and told me jokes and slipped me a buck or two behind my parents' backs. The overall tone of the video that we were shown represented an especial effort to pass off "Ted" as my avuncular buddy. And it almost worked! I actually had that little daydream going for me until my flight was delayed for 45 minutes while "Ted" abandoned his take off position to return to the gate to eject a passenger who had had too much to drink. Imagine that! Somebody going to Las Vegas was tipsy! The horror simply rings in my ears!

Anyway, back to the Line A/Line B episode…

This "Ted" official wearing a nattily pressed uniform confronted me. She asked if I was a First Class passenger.

I confessed that I was not.

She pointed to the next line and said that I had to use that.

I looked at the line that was configured in such a way as to jam a mile of walking into a space that was 5 yards by 10 yards. Then I looked at the line that was only 5 yards long. Still, there was nary a soul in either line.

Then she punctuated her instructions with an arm motion that was similar to one my mother used to make as she was saying words like, "March, Mister!"

I shrugged and began the trek down Line B. When I got to the end of the journey, I was waved over by a ticket agent that stood right at the end of Line A.

I asked if he was sure that he wanted to help me since his location suggested that he was reserved for only First Class passengers. He said it didn't matter.

Once he found out that we had already done the easy check-in, he seemed somewhat perturbed since we could have gone to an easy check-in agent whose only mission in life was to process baggage. I told him that I was hoping for a seat re-assignment. He took my boarding passes and started tapping away at a computer keyboard, asking only for my identification, which I promptly produced. He said that he could move us from rows 22 and 24 to row 14, center and window. I asked if there was anything closer to the front of the jet and on the aisle since I was somewhat claustrophobic. He suggested I talk more to the ticket agent at the boarding gate. Then he asked to weigh our luggage.

My son's two bags apparently passed his inspection. However, my own bag exceeded the weight limitation. I suspected that this would happen, as it has happened in the past. Every other time, however, I was merely told that my bag was a little overweight, and the matter was dropped. This guy, however, was living in a world of black and white. He ordered me to transfer some of the contents of my luggage to one of my son's bags.

I looked at the scale and saw that my bag was 58 pounds. I removed a plastic bag of laundry and handed it to my son who started jumping up and down on his suitcase to make more room. This dropped the weight of my bag to 55 pounds. I said, "How is that?"

He said, "No, our limit is 50 pounds."

I started removing souvenirs from my bag and handing them to my son, who was busily shoehorning them into every nook and cranny of his luggage. When I completed this routine, I was down to 52 pounds. Again, I asked, "How is that?"

He became somewhat tedious with me, or maybe he assumed that I had lost some of my auditory senses, since he chose to say loudly and slowly, "I said that the limit is 50 pounds."

Let me focus a little more here on his tone. I don't know if he was frazzled from inactivity prior to my arrival, or if he had been having an argument with his spouse, or even if he had suddenly had a flashback to an unpleasant episode in his childhood. However, choosing the moment of having my son and me unpack and repack luggage in the middle of McCarran International Airport to verbally chastise me as if I were an untrained animal or a juvenile delinquent who had just broken a nuisance law was an unnecessarily inflammatory choice.

At that point, I mentioned that I had used this bag in this past three months to go from Chicago to New Orleans and back, Chicago to Newark and back, Chicago to Pittsburgh and back, and Chicago to Las Vegas, and each time I was told that my bag was overweight, but that it was okay. I said all of this very matter-of-factly. I didn't shout. I didn't grab him by his lapels and hiss into his face. I was simply filling up the time that it was taking me to repack my luggage there in the middle of McCarran International Airport.

He responded with the same tone of voice as mentioned above: "Well, two wrongs don't make a right, now, do they?"

Rather than congratulate him on his customer service skills, or marvel at his creativity and grasp of banality, I asked for his name. His nametag was conveniently turned backwards. He flipped it over briefly and then said, "While you are taking my name, I am going to make a note on your file that you are a difficult passenger."

With that, he started busily tapping away at his computer keyboard. He wasn't just typing a word or two. He was pounding away like Stephen King on a caffeine bender. I imagined security officers and SWAT teams appearing out of nowhere, subduing me with a tranquilizer dart filled with Thorazine, wrestling me to the ground, and then shackling me with chains and dragging me off to a Las Vegas dungeon filled with cattle prods and iron bars nestled in cast iron tubs filled with red hot coals.

I've seen the show on the A&E channel where people's journeys suddenly come to an end the second they are identified as a "difficult passenger." Hell, I even saw my good old "Uncle Ted" throw a tipsy reveler off the jet in Chicago. I wasn't going to press my luck.

I removed one last item from my luggage, and the weight dropped to 48 pounds. The last thing to go was a set of bongo drums, which was a prop for my son's dance troupe that had just spent 5 days in Las Vegas dancing at The Aladdin.

"How's that?" I asked.

He could have said anything in the world at that point.

He could have said, "Thank you. That will do."

He could have said, "You are now within our weight limitations."

He could have even said, "Have a nice flight!"

He didn't say anything even like that. Here's what he did say:

"If you put anything back in that bag between here and security, they will send it back to me and we will have to start all over."

Again, his tone was demeaning and confrontational.

I said, "Do you know what? I didn't get your name. May I please have it again?"

This time, he flipped his badge over and held it up in front of my face. Reynold Kung. I'll remember that.

I thanked him and started off toward security. When my son and I got there, I asked for a supervisor.

The folks that were identified with TSA badges were most helpful. One young lady asked after my reason for wanting to see a supervisor. I briefly ran down my visit with Reynold Kung, and she remarked that this was ridiculous. She said that bags as heavy as 69 pounds are regularly sent over to them without any indications of being overweight. She went out of her way to assure me that she didn't think I was being difficult, and then she went off in search of one of Ted's supervisors.

Another young lady came over to me and asked if she could help. I asked if she was a supervisor, and she said that she wasn't, but would be happy to get one for me. She looked around and pointed out a gentleman in a dark blue or black blazer who was behind the desk and busily helping some other customers.

With that, I saw Reynold Kung hop over the scales and come in my direction. He jammed a customer service complaint form into my chest and stormed away. I went off in the direction of Mr. Dark Blazer.

His name was Gail. I didn't get his last name, and I apologize for that. Anyway, he listened to my story and then went to security to retrieve my bag. He weighed it and told me that it was only 48 pounds and that he didn't see any problem. I explained that my concern was no longer with the weight of my bag since Reynold Kung had made such an issue of getting me to unpack it there at the desk. I was now dealing with the prospect of being branded as a difficult passenger.

Gail asked if I could carry the bongo drums on the jet with me. I explained that I already had one carry-on item and one personal item. He took the bongo drums from me and weighed them with my piece of luggage. He told me that I was only 2 pounds over, and after appearing to wrestle with his conscience, he remarked that he could let me go this time.

Again I explained that I could easily carry on the bongo drums if I didn't already have one personal item and one carry-on item. My primary concern was in being identified as a difficult passenger.

Gail took my bag back over to security and told them that it was okay for me to put my bongo drums back in the luggage. He told me that while each baggage clerk has a certain amount of discretion in allowing slightly overweight bags go through since there is a slight chance of inaccuracy in the scales, others are very strict and allow nothing beyond the approved weight limitation.

Again, I told him my concern was with being branded as a difficult passenger.

He finally remarked that I did not have any comment on my file that I was difficult and that Mr. Kung's statement to that effect was out of line, and he apologized. This was all I wanted. However, I was still somewhat nagged by doubt since Gail never even asked my name or looked at my boarding pass or computer records. As I said, Reynold Kung went at his keyboard with all the fury of Ernest Hemingway after a liter of Sangria.

Please understand that I was not trying to get away with anything or get something for free. At no time in our "conversation" did Reynold Kung offer me the opportunity to pay the $25 overage fee. His command was pure and simple. "Move some of your possessions to another suitcase."

Only after being unable to accede to Mr. Kung's demands after a reasonable effort did I make any comment about past experiences. In doing that and by asking for his name, am I really being difficult?

I fully appreciate your efforts at re-attaining your dominance of the air-traffic market. However, you should also know the behavior of those on the front line - the folks that represent the face of "Ted."

I also realize the sensitivity of security issues surrounding air travel in this day and age. However, how many tens of thousands of people fly each and every day? It must be very tiring to assume that every one of those tens of thousands of passengers is a terrorist. And until Reynold Kung saw fit to play out the assumed charade of noting in my records that I was a difficult passenger, I had no distinction with your corporation other than being only one more head in a herd of cattle being lead to slaughter. On that note, I suppose I should be grateful. I got personalized attention! But, while you're doing that, why not try treating us like we're… oh, I don't know… customers perhaps? And let's face it: you wouldn't exist without customers.

While I'm certainly not complaining about the astringent security measures that are necessary, I am complaining about the treatment I have received as your customer. Mr. Kung saw fit to threaten me. This was a move that was made out of hand. I asked some simple questions, and made some simple comments. I'm stunned to learn that, in doing that, I am a difficult passenger.

Instead of attempting to at least appear to service the customer, Reynold Kung saw fit to wield some invisible stick by telling me he was putting in my record that I was a difficult passenger. What the hell is that all about? Have you ever seen the movie Animal House? Don't you think that Reynold Kung is coming off a little like Dean Wormer putting the fraternity on double secret probation? Right now, for me, "Ted" looks a lot like Reynold Kung.

Personally, I had fallen away from using United for the past several years, and I only agreed this time since it had been so long since I last availed myself of your services. Do you think I should try again? Do you think that after this experience, I would even be inclined to try again?

I would like for you to be aware of this matter. I have read on a number of travel-related bulletin boards that United is notorious for failing to respond to customer complaints. Therefore, I am liberally sharing this letter with more of the officers of United in the hopes of receiving a reply. At the same time, I am posting this letter on a website that is devoted to corporate customer services. To that end, I will also post any and all replies that I receive.

Thank you for your time in reading this.

Sincerely

John E. Schultz

July 4, 2004