Because Robert Loves to Fly
From the Phat Phree:
When it came to air travel, for years I felt like a gay man in the military: frightened to come out. But the time has come for me to share.
I'm scared to death of flying.
There, I said it. And I feel better now that I did. Kind of sad, isn't it? But after reviewing what I just wrote, I'm feeling compelled to clarify. I'm actually scared to death of crashing. You know it's bad when you're sitting in an airport, clear across the country from your intended destination, and sincerely contemplating renting a car. We're not talking B.A. Baracus-level fear here, but it's pretty damn close. The A-Team used to drug B.A. involuntarily to get him on planes. I, on the other hand, voluntarily drug myself with whatever skunked beer the airline will graciously provide me. ("That'll be five dollars please.") For the record, it usually takes about three beers before I release my death grip on the arm rest. I can usually be found staring at the seatback in front of me repeating the mantra, "you're more likely to get hit by an ice cream truck in a snowstorm than die in a plane crash." It's my pathetic, mid-air attempt at achieving serenity. But the fun really starts when I reach the alcohol-induced fuzzy level of comfort. The transformation is shocking. I get cocky like Lieutenant Dan in a driving hurricane, almost daring every bout of "light chop" to crank it up a notch.
There are so many reasons to dislike the commercial flying experience. I think it's time to analyze them in grave detail. Why? Because misery loves company; that's why, stupid.
The Prison Bitch
No really, as a passenger, this is pretty much what you are. Think about it. You're at the mercy of whoever is involved with the flying process. For example, let's discuss the plane's mechanic. What if this guy has a bad day? It's not like when LeBron James has an off night, going 4 for 57 from the field and committing eleven turnovers. The only repercussion in this case is that the talking heads are forced to take a night off from calling him the next Jordan. LeBron just brushes it off, goes home to an awaiting horde of orgy-willing groupies, and tries to get focused for the next night.
But what if the plane mechanic happened to find out that morning from the private investigator he hired to tail his wife that she's banging the next-door neighbor? The same cocksmith who happens to have the hottest wife in the neighborhood, by the way. You think Mr. Mechanic's mind is going to be focused on your plane's ball bearings? Not a chance. I typically think about stuff like this right as the plane reaches its "cruising altitude" and wonder what a seven-mile freefall would feel like. Anything like the Pirate Ship at Busch Gardens? I hope not, because I puked on that evil fucking ride.
I have similar thoughts while riding in elevators and happen to glance at the incoherent signature on the inspection certificate from a day no more recent than a decade ago. At least the elevator freefall and subsequent splattering wouldn't take as long. But that's another worry for another time.
(Twenty-Second Timeout: I thought writing this piece while in actual flight would be therapeutic. That's about as logical as the infamous Herschel Walker trade. The fact that the plane is bouncing around like Coach Joe Paterno’s nuts at a trampoline festival isn't helping matters either. It's an anxiety attack reality experience. I wonder if the stewardess... yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, they're flight attendants now... will show her boobies to calm me down? I'd find that soothing. Too bad she's the proud owner of shriveled up A-cups. Yes, I will have another Fosters please, thank you.
And in case you were wondering, the heifer in First Class within slaps-reach just gatted out her third glass of Merlot and is currently sawing into a gorgeous filet. Meanwhile, I’m practically promising (alright, not practically) the light-footed, deviant-looking male sky servant sexual favors for a bag of Planters peanuts. Nowhere is the separation of classes more evident than in air travel. “Excuse me sir, no peeking inside the curtain, the humans don’t like to be disturbed.”)
IQ Degradation
Flying brings out the DUMBEST in people. I'm convinced there's some sort of brain-stunting that occurs when walking through the metal detectors. Print this list of "don'ts" out, get it laminated and carry it with you at all times while flying. Refer to it often.
1.) If your feet smell bad, don't take off your shoes. It's rude.
2.) When you get up to take a pee-pee, don't use the back of my seat as a way to catapult your huge ass out of yours. It scares the shit out of me.
3.) When the plane arrives at the gate, don't stand up right away; you're not going anywhere. Relax, your mediocre life will still be waiting for you.
4.) Don't bring nine bags onto the plane. Check them. Sure, there's a slight chance some pervert in security will smell your panties, but most likely you'll get your unmentionables back unscathed.
5.) Along those same lines, don't walk on the plane, put your suitcase above row 7 and then walk down to your shitty middle seat in row 27. Wheel your queer wheelie bag back to the overhead bin above your seat. If it's filled, check the fucker.
6.) Don't fart. You're the only one who enjoys smelling it. I know you think you can bury it deep within the fibers of the seat cushion, but all that does is trap it like a rabid dog until you inevitably move and release its fury upon us all.
7.) Don't sleep through takeoff and landing. It pisses me off to no end that someone can be so relaxed on a plane. Show some solidarity and grip the armrests with a brotha.
8.) Don't watch a DVD with dirty scenes and cover every one up with your hands. You look like a fucking geek. If you're that big of a nerd, you knew these scenes were in it ahead of time.
9.) Don't pretend our legs touching isn't bothering you. It's awkward and reminds me of those embarrassing days riding the pine for my grammar school basketball team.
tend our legs touching isn't bothering you. It's awkward and reminds me of those embarrassing days riding the pine for my grammar school basketball team.
10.) Don't stick your head out into the aisle after a hot girl walks by to check out her ass. You look like a degenerate and despite what you think, everyone caught you doing it.
11.) Don't get overcome with self-importance and brazenly march through First Class to use their bathroom. Everyone thinks you're going for the cockpit. Actually, on second thought, go for it. I hope an air marshal puts a cap in yo' ass.
12.) Don't get pissed off when security does their job, no matter how inane their approach or request. ESPECIALLY if you look like a terrorist. This stuff is important, and I can't emphasize this enough: racial profiling is integral to law enforcement's effectiveness.
13.) Don't talk to me. Even though I don't know you, I probably won't like you. Unless you have extensive flying experience and can convince me of how safe it really is, keep your mouth shut.
14.) Don't get up more than once if you have a window seat. If it's a cross-country flight or less, you're allowed one trip to the frighteningly loud flushing toilets. That's the rule. When you booked the seat, you traded mobility for a cool view and a wall on which to rest your head against. Accept it.
15.) Don't clap when we land. I bet you're the same person that claps after a good movie in theaters, aren't you? Granted, I'm clapping and celebrating like I just won the fucking lottery on the inside, even if it was the smoothest flight in history, but I'm not going to let you or anyone else know that. Show the same discretion please.
16.) Don't give me a cocky look when we're boarding and I pass you in first class. I know, I know, you're a big shot because you're the country's most successful paper cup salesman and have racked up four bazillion frequent flyer miles. I hope your hot towel scalds you, by the way.
17.) Don't be the guy who faints and falls face down in the aisle causing the stewar... dammit... the flight attendant to come over the PA system and ask if there's a doctor on board. Oops, that happened to me once. Not kidding. Fuck. Movin' along...
"Potholes in the Sky"
If one more person tells me to think of turbulence like potholes on a freeway I may commit a homicide. The shit just can't be good for the plane. A friend of mine once commented that he's "amazed whipping through the air at four hundred miles an hour isn't bumpier than it actually is." Good point. But I don't care if that makes sense; it pisses me off. Whatta douche bag. Optimists irk me. The Pavlovian terror that strikes me when that stupid seatbelt light pings on is almost too much to bear. I immediately find the nearest stewardess (fuck it, I don't care anymore) and stare at her face for any signs of urgency. My rule is: when they panic, I freak out Airplane style, running around screaming and slapping people. Hasn't happened yet, but I know that day is coming.
M(N)RE's
Translation: Meals (NEVER) Ready to Eat. Airlines are squeezing in extra rows of seats, renegotiating union contracts and skimping on maintenance in order to turn their planes around faster, yet they're spending millions serving their passengers the most inedible food on the planet. This baffles me. Are customers demanding this? I refuse to believe anyone in the history of commercial flying has chosen an airline for the food, and will fight to the death if necessary with anyone who disagrees. Some airlines have caught on and now only serve you jockey-sized bags of pretzels and a beverage. That's smart. It's not hard to figure why their stocks are outperforming those of their near-bankrupt competitors. If people are worried about food, they'll bring it with them.
Before I leave you alone with your newfound appreciation for air travel, I have a few questions:
- Who's choosing the movies? Shrek? Really?
- Why are the ping tones for the stewardess call buttons and the "fasten seat belt because there's turbulence" the same exact tone? Entirely unnecessary panic elicitation.
- Why have I never sat next to someone remotely attractive?
- Who started the rumor that stewardesses were hot? My guess is that it's the same bastard who propagated the bullshit lie that nurses are hot. Bearded "women" from Eastern-bloc countries were the only ones ever to shove a thermometer up my can in the middle of the night.
- Do commercial airline pilots get laid because they're pilots? If they do, that's kind of annoying.
- What occupation has a higher percentage of homosexuality: figure skater or airline flight attendant?
- When they were choosing the material that the pillows and blankets were going to be made out of, did they consciously decide on the synthetic fabric from DuPont called "super irritating and uncomfortable"?
- Has anyone ever used the air phone? I think it'd be kind of funny actually.
That's all I have to say about that.
Godspeed.
When it came to air travel, for years I felt like a gay man in the military: frightened to come out. But the time has come for me to share.
I'm scared to death of flying.
There, I said it. And I feel better now that I did. Kind of sad, isn't it? But after reviewing what I just wrote, I'm feeling compelled to clarify. I'm actually scared to death of crashing. You know it's bad when you're sitting in an airport, clear across the country from your intended destination, and sincerely contemplating renting a car. We're not talking B.A. Baracus-level fear here, but it's pretty damn close. The A-Team used to drug B.A. involuntarily to get him on planes. I, on the other hand, voluntarily drug myself with whatever skunked beer the airline will graciously provide me. ("That'll be five dollars please.") For the record, it usually takes about three beers before I release my death grip on the arm rest. I can usually be found staring at the seatback in front of me repeating the mantra, "you're more likely to get hit by an ice cream truck in a snowstorm than die in a plane crash." It's my pathetic, mid-air attempt at achieving serenity. But the fun really starts when I reach the alcohol-induced fuzzy level of comfort. The transformation is shocking. I get cocky like Lieutenant Dan in a driving hurricane, almost daring every bout of "light chop" to crank it up a notch.
There are so many reasons to dislike the commercial flying experience. I think it's time to analyze them in grave detail. Why? Because misery loves company; that's why, stupid.
The Prison Bitch
No really, as a passenger, this is pretty much what you are. Think about it. You're at the mercy of whoever is involved with the flying process. For example, let's discuss the plane's mechanic. What if this guy has a bad day? It's not like when LeBron James has an off night, going 4 for 57 from the field and committing eleven turnovers. The only repercussion in this case is that the talking heads are forced to take a night off from calling him the next Jordan. LeBron just brushes it off, goes home to an awaiting horde of orgy-willing groupies, and tries to get focused for the next night.
But what if the plane mechanic happened to find out that morning from the private investigator he hired to tail his wife that she's banging the next-door neighbor? The same cocksmith who happens to have the hottest wife in the neighborhood, by the way. You think Mr. Mechanic's mind is going to be focused on your plane's ball bearings? Not a chance. I typically think about stuff like this right as the plane reaches its "cruising altitude" and wonder what a seven-mile freefall would feel like. Anything like the Pirate Ship at Busch Gardens? I hope not, because I puked on that evil fucking ride.
I have similar thoughts while riding in elevators and happen to glance at the incoherent signature on the inspection certificate from a day no more recent than a decade ago. At least the elevator freefall and subsequent splattering wouldn't take as long. But that's another worry for another time.
(Twenty-Second Timeout: I thought writing this piece while in actual flight would be therapeutic. That's about as logical as the infamous Herschel Walker trade. The fact that the plane is bouncing around like Coach Joe Paterno’s nuts at a trampoline festival isn't helping matters either. It's an anxiety attack reality experience. I wonder if the stewardess... yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, they're flight attendants now... will show her boobies to calm me down? I'd find that soothing. Too bad she's the proud owner of shriveled up A-cups. Yes, I will have another Fosters please, thank you.
And in case you were wondering, the heifer in First Class within slaps-reach just gatted out her third glass of Merlot and is currently sawing into a gorgeous filet. Meanwhile, I’m practically promising (alright, not practically) the light-footed, deviant-looking male sky servant sexual favors for a bag of Planters peanuts. Nowhere is the separation of classes more evident than in air travel. “Excuse me sir, no peeking inside the curtain, the humans don’t like to be disturbed.”)
IQ Degradation
Flying brings out the DUMBEST in people. I'm convinced there's some sort of brain-stunting that occurs when walking through the metal detectors. Print this list of "don'ts" out, get it laminated and carry it with you at all times while flying. Refer to it often.
1.) If your feet smell bad, don't take off your shoes. It's rude.
2.) When you get up to take a pee-pee, don't use the back of my seat as a way to catapult your huge ass out of yours. It scares the shit out of me.
3.) When the plane arrives at the gate, don't stand up right away; you're not going anywhere. Relax, your mediocre life will still be waiting for you.
4.) Don't bring nine bags onto the plane. Check them. Sure, there's a slight chance some pervert in security will smell your panties, but most likely you'll get your unmentionables back unscathed.
5.) Along those same lines, don't walk on the plane, put your suitcase above row 7 and then walk down to your shitty middle seat in row 27. Wheel your queer wheelie bag back to the overhead bin above your seat. If it's filled, check the fucker.
6.) Don't fart. You're the only one who enjoys smelling it. I know you think you can bury it deep within the fibers of the seat cushion, but all that does is trap it like a rabid dog until you inevitably move and release its fury upon us all.
7.) Don't sleep through takeoff and landing. It pisses me off to no end that someone can be so relaxed on a plane. Show some solidarity and grip the armrests with a brotha.
8.) Don't watch a DVD with dirty scenes and cover every one up with your hands. You look like a fucking geek. If you're that big of a nerd, you knew these scenes were in it ahead of time.
9.) Don't pretend our legs touching isn't bothering you. It's awkward and reminds me of those embarrassing days riding the pine for my grammar school basketball team.
tend our legs touching isn't bothering you. It's awkward and reminds me of those embarrassing days riding the pine for my grammar school basketball team.
10.) Don't stick your head out into the aisle after a hot girl walks by to check out her ass. You look like a degenerate and despite what you think, everyone caught you doing it.
11.) Don't get overcome with self-importance and brazenly march through First Class to use their bathroom. Everyone thinks you're going for the cockpit. Actually, on second thought, go for it. I hope an air marshal puts a cap in yo' ass.
12.) Don't get pissed off when security does their job, no matter how inane their approach or request. ESPECIALLY if you look like a terrorist. This stuff is important, and I can't emphasize this enough: racial profiling is integral to law enforcement's effectiveness.
13.) Don't talk to me. Even though I don't know you, I probably won't like you. Unless you have extensive flying experience and can convince me of how safe it really is, keep your mouth shut.
14.) Don't get up more than once if you have a window seat. If it's a cross-country flight or less, you're allowed one trip to the frighteningly loud flushing toilets. That's the rule. When you booked the seat, you traded mobility for a cool view and a wall on which to rest your head against. Accept it.
15.) Don't clap when we land. I bet you're the same person that claps after a good movie in theaters, aren't you? Granted, I'm clapping and celebrating like I just won the fucking lottery on the inside, even if it was the smoothest flight in history, but I'm not going to let you or anyone else know that. Show the same discretion please.
16.) Don't give me a cocky look when we're boarding and I pass you in first class. I know, I know, you're a big shot because you're the country's most successful paper cup salesman and have racked up four bazillion frequent flyer miles. I hope your hot towel scalds you, by the way.
17.) Don't be the guy who faints and falls face down in the aisle causing the stewar... dammit... the flight attendant to come over the PA system and ask if there's a doctor on board. Oops, that happened to me once. Not kidding. Fuck. Movin' along...
"Potholes in the Sky"
If one more person tells me to think of turbulence like potholes on a freeway I may commit a homicide. The shit just can't be good for the plane. A friend of mine once commented that he's "amazed whipping through the air at four hundred miles an hour isn't bumpier than it actually is." Good point. But I don't care if that makes sense; it pisses me off. Whatta douche bag. Optimists irk me. The Pavlovian terror that strikes me when that stupid seatbelt light pings on is almost too much to bear. I immediately find the nearest stewardess (fuck it, I don't care anymore) and stare at her face for any signs of urgency. My rule is: when they panic, I freak out Airplane style, running around screaming and slapping people. Hasn't happened yet, but I know that day is coming.
M(N)RE's
Translation: Meals (NEVER) Ready to Eat. Airlines are squeezing in extra rows of seats, renegotiating union contracts and skimping on maintenance in order to turn their planes around faster, yet they're spending millions serving their passengers the most inedible food on the planet. This baffles me. Are customers demanding this? I refuse to believe anyone in the history of commercial flying has chosen an airline for the food, and will fight to the death if necessary with anyone who disagrees. Some airlines have caught on and now only serve you jockey-sized bags of pretzels and a beverage. That's smart. It's not hard to figure why their stocks are outperforming those of their near-bankrupt competitors. If people are worried about food, they'll bring it with them.
Before I leave you alone with your newfound appreciation for air travel, I have a few questions:
- Who's choosing the movies? Shrek? Really?
- Why are the ping tones for the stewardess call buttons and the "fasten seat belt because there's turbulence" the same exact tone? Entirely unnecessary panic elicitation.
- Why have I never sat next to someone remotely attractive?
- Who started the rumor that stewardesses were hot? My guess is that it's the same bastard who propagated the bullshit lie that nurses are hot. Bearded "women" from Eastern-bloc countries were the only ones ever to shove a thermometer up my can in the middle of the night.
- Do commercial airline pilots get laid because they're pilots? If they do, that's kind of annoying.
- What occupation has a higher percentage of homosexuality: figure skater or airline flight attendant?
- When they were choosing the material that the pillows and blankets were going to be made out of, did they consciously decide on the synthetic fabric from DuPont called "super irritating and uncomfortable"?
- Has anyone ever used the air phone? I think it'd be kind of funny actually.
That's all I have to say about that.
Godspeed.
posted by Hilary at
6:06 AM
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