Following a merger or acquisition the need to communicate a sense of normalcy to all audiences becomes magnified. After the announcement of the transaction, different publics are quick to blame the smallest event on the transaction and those who consummated the deal.

That became more than communications theory for me on Friday as I boarded a Midwest, er, Frontier flight from Milwaukee to Des Moines.

Allow me to offer a little background and context: Those of us who call Wisconsin home take a certain level of provincial pride in people and organizations that hail from the Badger State. Harley-Davidson, the Green Bay Packers, Miller Brewing (MillerCoors merger notwithstanding) and, yes, Midwest Airlines are just a few examples.

So, when Midwest was incorporated into Denver-based Frontier Airlines, the public angst around here was palpable.

Fast forward to Friday. As I boarded my flight for Iowa, I glanced at my boarding pass. Seat 3D. I proceeded down the aisle to row three and glanced at the small label above my row. Seat A, B and C, but no D. As I worked my way through a disgruntled mass of humanity to the flight attendant at the boarding door, I asked her where all of the seat “Ds” were and where I should sit.

“Window seat. Right down the aisle to the left,” she said.

I looked again. “That’s seat C. I’m in seat D,” I pointed out.

“No, seat C is seat D,” she said.

I know I should’ve just sat in my seat and let it end, but that’s not in my nature.

“Then where is seat C?,” I asked.

“There is no seat C. Seat C is seat D. The seats go A, B and D. Everyone who has seat D is assigned seat C,” she replied.

Those who are aware of the 1940s and 50s comedy duo Abbott and Costello will understand why I felt awash in a “Who’s on First” routine.

Finally, not willing hold up the parade of souls searching for a phantom seat D, I sat down in “my” seat–seat C.

Fellow passengers had witnessed the exchange and couldn’t stay quiet any longer.

“If they don’t know the alphabet, how will they get us where we need to go?,” the guy behind me asked, to no one in particular.

“Must be the Frontier system,” a woman across the aisle quipped.

I must admit to feeling a little guilty pleasure regarding the rabble I had roused.

I also couldn’t help feeling a little empathy for those tasked with injecting the Frontier reputation into the Midwest brand. It takes more than a coat of paint and logo shift on the planes. And this is only the beginning.