So here I am sitting in a Delta 777 at the gate in Atlanta waiting for my flight to take off for Los Angeles. We were scheduled to depart at 10:15 a.m.; now it’s 10:30. Fifteen minutes late is no big deal these days, and Delta has a reputation for being late anyway. But now the captain is on the loudspeaker. He says there’s going to be a slight delay because our rations haven’t arrived. Hmm. So the plane’s fully loaded with passengers and there’s no food on it?

It’s 11:00 a.m. now and we’re still on the ground. The head cabin attendant says we have to wait until the airline “finds the catering truck.” Finds it? Okay, I’ll wait. (What choice do I have?) Five, ten, fifteen — they found it! Food’s being loaded. All set. Five, ten, another fifteen — here we go, pulling back from the gate. Finally. Time now for the safety video. Wait . . . The video is playing but there’s no sound. Sound’s out. So the cabin attendant is narrating the video. That’s a first! (For me, at least.) And now the captain’s back on the loudspeaker. We’re number three for takeoff, so I look out the window to make a visual confirmation. One, two, three . . . four? Why are four planes in front of us if we’re third in line? Now I’m wondering if the gas tanks are full.

Four, three, two, one, take off. In the air. At last. Leveling. The seat-belt sign goes off. And it’s the head cabin attendant again. She says the video system is inoperable. But no worries — she’s chipper: “Hope everyone brought good reading material.” Brilliant.

A cross-country flight from Atlanta to Los Angeles and no movie. I’ll live. I can read and get some work done. But for now I’ll just sit back and think. Food’s on board. Wonder what we’re getting? Chicken with pasta maybe. Or chicken without pasta. Rubber chicken with pasta. That’s it, and plastic forks to bounce off the rubber chicken.

Food fills my head. But it’s other food now . . . once-upon-a-time food. I can remember when a cross-country flight in business class included a Caesar salad prepared right at your seat. A choice of two delicious entrees, at minimum. A selection of premium red and white wines. Ice cream sundaes, handmade. And those fresh-baked chocolate-chip cookies just before landing! Ah, the good old days. Who stole them? I know who — or what. It’s the really stupid regulation that allows only U.S. carriers to fly domestic routes.

Stupid. I’m thinking about Virgin America now, the prospective domestic airline. It got kicked in the teeth when the FAA required it to adjust its ownership structure so that it is not controlled by foreigners. (I guess the name sounds too much like Virgin Atlantic.) Little chance it’s ever getting off the ground, thanks to nearsighted congressional protectionism. Every domestic flyer bears its unfair share.

But enough about planes. In the quiet of no movie I’m now thinking about cars — back in the good ol’ days of Caesar salads and cookies. Those were good ol’ days for the auto industry, too. In the 1960s, before the arrival of serious foreign competition, the Big Three automakers had the industry all to themselves. And they acted the part, too. They were dictators. They told us Americans which cars we could buy. Like the Oldsmobile Toronado. That contraption got about four city miles to the gallon. Or the Chevrolet Corvair, underpowered and dangerous. Or the countless makes and models that were designed to last only as long as their warranties. (If you think these accusations are unfair, see the movie Tucker.) And it wasn’t until companies like Toyota and Honda began to give American drivers some choice that Detroit began to react to the desires of the American consumer.

Simple economics, and I’m thinking about planes again. Cars and planes. What if the government today restricted foreign auto imports just as they do foreign airlines? That’s easy: Things would be just as crappy down there as they are up here. Yet the powers that be in Washington persist in outlawing foreign carriers from flying local routes. I wish I were on one of those carriers now. Now that’s a quality flying experience. Sure, I’d have to pay up. But you get what you pay for when competition is allowed to flourish.

In-flight trivia: How many domestic airlines have purchased 787s, those modern-era aeronautical beauties? I know the answer. (I should since it’s my game of trivia.) The number is zero. All the 787s are being purchased by the foreign airlines who are flourishing in the world economy. The backlog of 787s is pretty long, and the chance I’ll ever fly one on a domestic route is minimal at best.

I look around at my seat mates in business class. We’re all stuck. But the domestic carriers are just as stuck. Their struggle to compete and survive is undermining their ability to provide a class service to the consumers who are willing to pay a premium price for premium services. I’m thinking about cars again: Lexus, Mercedes, BMW. That’s choice. What choice do we have up here, me and my seat mates who are flying over America with no movie to watch while we wait for our chicken?

The outlook for domestic carriers, and passengers, looks grim. Without any serious foreign competition, the services and amenities provided by the domestic airlines will continue to slide. (Although the domestic carriers who fly internationally will continue to upgrade their services on international routes. Wonder why? I know: competition.)

My stomach’s grumbling now and I’m feeling ornery. As long as Congress and the FAA refuse to let foreign competitors operate in the U.S. market, domestic fliers can be assured of a deteriorating in-flight experience. Our politicians could at least allow a few foreign airlines to compete on some domestic routes, just to get a sample of how the domestic consumer will benefit from free-market air travel. But who am I kidding? If you want a top-flight experience in the clouds over Kansas you need a private jet, a luxury Mercedes in the sky.

But I dream.

Three hours till Los Angeles. Here comes the rubber chicken.