I don't know if you have flown anywhere lately. If not, let me tell you: Things ain't what they used to be.

Our first hint of trouble was when we arrived at the check-in desk. Never mind about getting through the airport spot check of automobiles three-quarters of a mile from the terminal, baggage x-rays, a check of the thickness of one's shoe soles or being sure nail files and other such dangerous weapons are in your check-in baggage. We were used to those inconveniences.

What we weren't prepared for was the fact that because of potential bankruptcy airlines have laid off thousands of workers, tightened their belts and wrung paybacks and concessions from their unions.

At the check-in desk three representatives were trying to deal with a small horde of passengers hoping, like we were, for an early flight out. They were bound for various locations around the world. But first, like us, they had to get from their present "hub"—which in the interest of fair play shall remain nameless—to another hub somewhere else out yonder.

We waited while the airline staff checked driver's licenses and passports and asked the usual questions. We allowed that we had not been asked to carry any packages by any strangers. The attendant punched a few buttons and our boarding passes popped out.

We headed toward our boarding gate. We found it. We sat and waited. And waited. And waited some more. First the flight was delayed, then it was airborne and then, as it developed, it had a flap problem and could not land where we were because the runway was not long enough. Instead, it went to another, nearer airport with longer runways. It landed safely.

Passengers got bussed, several hours late, to their destination. Sorry, said the airline staff.

But what about us? We were now planeless.

Not to worry, we were told. Another plane was coming.

Unfortunately, it was not coming fast enough to connect us with our next hub. Back we went to the ticket counter, where the three agents (there were still only three) grabbed our baggage claim stubs, disappeared to identify and retag our luggage and then came back to issue us new boarding passes.

Meantime, behind us a couple more dozen customers were chaffing angrily at the wait.

Back we went with new boarding passes and new baggage claim stubs to wait. And wait. And wait some more.

An hour passed. Two. Finally we were told our plane had taken off from Los Angeles, our next hub, and was on its way. We paced. We sat. Five hours had passed and we had not yet left the home port.

At last the plane rolled in, disgorged its passengers, who gave us not a look, and we climbed aboard like so many sardines being fitted into a can and took off.

We made our connection to our final destination—just barely, some seven hours behind schedule. Fortunately for us, the boat we were trying to reach didn't leave until the following morning. We fell into bed and slept the sleep of the condemned.

The trip back from the end of the voyage wasn't much better, although it was on time. My wife wanted a pillow. The flight attendant, a middle-aged male with a lot of jokes and sweet talk, made a sweep of the plane but couldn't find any. He promptly forgot her request. The passenger in the seat in front of her failed to raise her seat back at takeoff. He ignored it.

I had noticed passengers gobbling meals in the airport and it now became evident why. There was no meal on this flight (or on a good many others, I'm told)—just a snack, consisting of two crackers, two cookies, some chips, a minute tin of what purported to be salsa, another of what claimed to be processed cheese. There was a knife to spread the cheese.

A passenger near me asked if this was the meal.

"No," the flight attendant said. "It's a snack."

"It looks like crackers to me," the passenger said.

"It's a snack," the flight attendant snapped.

I did wonder what they got in first class, but then there were only eight first-class seats on the plane and from my vantage point in economy, I couldn't tell. Maybe four crackers.

Besides that the plane clearly was dirty and needed some patching here and there. So much for the good old gourmet days of yore.

Well, I don't suppose we need food while flying anyway, but neither do we require the fiction that we are getting it or that planes are on time, or that the airline industry in general is not in desperate straits.

But it would sure be nice if someone did something about it.