Dear Sansa Airlines: I understand that you’re a regional carrier catering to exotic and under served areas. As such, I was prepared to forgive the fact that your Tambor “airport” is merely a driveway with a Coke machine on one end. And though I was menaced by iguanas while sitting on the outdoor bench that serves as your boarding gate, I chose to see it as adding a flair of adventure to the otherwise dull business of air travel. And the fact that you were a full 90 minutes late – causing us to miss our connection to Miami – though regrettable, is simply one of those things one endeavors to suffer with grace and patience while traveling through these areas. All of these things would have been readily forgiven and forgotten had you not terrified me with a buzzing alarm from the cockpit and a flashing “low fuel” warning light for sixteen of the twenty minutes we were in flight. Fuel, Sansa Airlines: it makes the plane go. Henceforth, Sansa, I dub thee bush league, and will direct my business to donkey, or kayak, or one man rickshaw before considering a flight with you again.