Flying is easy, they said.

You’ll save so much time, they said.

YEAH RIGHT! I say.

After my multiple flying adventures over the last month, I can no longer tell my brain that she’s overexaggerating about how much she hates flying.

She has evidence now. Like, documented proof that getting on a 30-minute flight can somehow become an eight-hour extracurricular activity.

It started with our trip to Chicago to see J. Cole. We knew there were storms coming through the Midwest, so naturally I woke up that morning expecting chaos.

Except…

ON TIME.

Beautiful.

Our ride was literally pulling up to take us to the airport when the text came through:

Your flight has been delayed. New departure time: three hours later.

Okayyyyy. Fine.

We still had until around 8pm to get into Chicago and make the concert. It was only 10:30am. Plenty of time.

Then 2pm became 3:30.

3:30 became 4:30.

Then suddenly United was like, JK!!! Come earlier!!! 3:45!!! So off we went!  Important context: this was Zach’s first flight ever. Poor guy…

We make it through TSA, get to the gate, boarding time rolls around…

and nobody is boarding.

Gate change.

So now we’re boarding a United flight from an American Airlines gate while the poor employees repeatedly explain that YES, THIS IS THE UNITED FLIGHT.

Eventually, we get on the plane, our seatbelts buckled, we’re ready to go.

Except air traffic control hasn’t cleared us for takeoff.

So we sit.

And sit.

And sit.

For another two hours.

We finally land in Chicago around 5:45pm, knowing we still have an hour on the L, a hotel check-in, another Uber ride, and somewhere in there we should probably consume an actual meal.

Fast-forward: 9:00pm. We walk into the concert basically right as J. Cole starts.

Mission accomplished.

Surely the flight home would be easier.

There were no giant storms rolling through. We gave ourselves plenty of time. Everything was going according to plan until the L decided it also wanted to participate in ruining my relationship with transportation.

Twenty-minute delay. Whatever. We built in buffer time.

Then, four stops away from the airport: Your flight has been delayed.

Oh COME ON. Maintenance issue, forty-five minutes.

Honestly, this time it was kind of convenient at this point because the train was behind and we still had TSA.

We get to the gate, boarding starts, group 3 gets called. And while we’re standing there, five ambulances go flying across the runway outside the windows.

Cool cool cool. Weird, but we board anyway.

We’re buckled in when the pilot comes over the speaker and tells us another aircraft had an issue on the runway and O’Hare — one of the busiest airports in the world — is basically operating with one runway.

So we wait. Forty-five minutes. “We’re in the queue!”

Another forty-five. “We’re in the queue to leave the gate!”

THE GATE?!

Eventually we start taxiing. Praise tha good Lord above.

Another forty-five minutes pass.

Pilot comes back on: “There are about 30 planes ahead of us.”

Thirty.

We were essentially held hostage on that plane for four hours before finally making it back to Traverse City.

For reference: The actual flight across Lake Michigan takes about 30 minutes.

But don’t worry. United wasn’t done with me yet.

Fast-forward to this past weekend. I’m flying solo this time, my flight leaves at 5:25am, which means I am awake at the deeply offensive hour of 3:30am.

I get to the airport around 4. I make it through TSA and find myself a cozy little airport chair next to an outlet. 5:05 rolls around and it’s officially boarding time.

Except…there isn’t even an employee at the gate. Interesting.

Around 5:10, some poor woman finally tells all of us: The plane isn’t here.

“WHERE IS THE PLANE?!?”

It won’t arrive until 10:30am. FIVE HOURS.

People are scrambling because they have connections. Families have literal children awake before the roosters cock-a-doodle-doo trying to get to Seattle.

Meanwhile, I’m refreshing the United app like it’s suddenly my salaried position because I refuse to give up my warm chair next to the outlet just to stand in a giant customer-service line.

Oh and the chat? A 45-minute wait because they’re experiencing an “unexpected number of people needing support.” NO SHIT… I wonder why.

Refresh.

Refresh.

Refresh.

And suddenly… 7:30am flight.

Where did she come from?! No idea. But I booked her. New route: Traverse City → Chicago → Indianapolis.

Downside: my cute little 45-minute connection became a FOUR-HOUR LAYOVER.

Love that for me. Eventually I make it to Indianapolis. Spent the weekend there.

Now surely the flight home will finally redeem aviation as an industry.

HAHAHAHAHAHA.

I get to the airport around 7am.

The gate agent literally announces that we are on time and boarding will begin in five minutes.

Two minutes later: “Actually, we’re delayed until 10:45 because of severe weather moving through Chicago.”

You.

Cannot.

Make.

This.

Shit.

Up.

Another four-hour delay.

We finally board around 10:20.

Then sit there until almost noon.

By the time we land in Chicago, I have approximately seven minutes to make my connecting flight. The transfer itself takes four.

So I basically sprint through O’Hare like I’m the McCallisters and somehow… I MAKE IT.

And because apparently the universe decided I had suffered enough: I got randomly upgraded to first class.

Cue First Class by Jack Harlow please and thank you.

During this entire month-long saga, I realized something that has absolutely nothing to do with airplanes.

The delays weren’t even the part that made me the most irritated.

It was constantly being told:

✈️ You’re on time.

✈️ We’ll board in five minutes.

✈️ It’s only a 45-minute delay.

✈️ We’re in the queue.

…and then experiencing something completely different.

And THAT is something I think about constantly when writing copy.

Your words are setting expectations. Before someone hires you, buys something, joins your membership, downloads the freebie, or even clicks the damn button…

your copy is telling them: Okay here’s what’s about to happen.

When the experience matches the promise, you build solid trust with your future clients and casual lurkers become ready to take the next step.

But when your copy promises first class and the actual experience feels like spending four hours parked on the runway people notice and they tell their friends. 

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ON THAT NOTE

Back with a messaging tip using our K.I.N.F.O.L.K acronym & today we’re talking about “N: Natural”

Somewhere between my fifth “we’re in the queue” announcement and accepting that this plane was now my permanent residence, I started thinking about how differently companies talk compared to actual humans.

Nobody on that plane was saying, “We’re currently experiencing an operational delay.”

We were saying, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

That’s what I mean when I talk about writing naturally/conversational copy.

Natural copy isn’t about randomly adding slang into your website or writing exactly the way you text your best friend—though, I do believe there is a time and place for that ie. this newsletter ;).

It’s more about removing that weird layer of performance that is serving girl boss meets corp bro. At its core natural just means that your words feel believable coming from the brand saying them.

For example, this is what we all needed to hear from the United Airlines team:

“We’re experiencing a slight delay due to aircraft maintenance.”

Translation: “The plane is getting a tune up and none of us know when you’re leaving.”

One sounds professional.

The other tells me what the hell is actually going on.

Your copy assignment this week is to read through it and ask: Am I actually delivering the experience I’m promising here and more importantly, does this actually sound like me?

Because after the month I’ve had… I’m officially very sensitive to false advertising and bullshit professional talk.

Anyway, catch me driving everywhere for the foreseeable future like the classic American crosscountry roadtrip bitch that I am. ✌️

Want to read more from the Wednesday Kin, head here.