COLUMN: Avoiding a world of aviation
I’ll start bluntly, with no frills. I hate flying. Hate it.
Like, a lot.
Like, a lot a lot.
My first real exposure to the bustling world of aviation was at the ripe age of 4 years old. I was watching the news with my family when I noticed a story on this odd-looking banana shape figure in the sky. It was a 3-D diagram and it was showing the object break at the nose and began hurtling toward the ocean. The next thing I heard was “no survivors.”
Now, my mother, never one to take news too dramatically, simply watched the story as she would look at beef stew at a dinner table. For some reason, I naturally assumed — this isn’t even close to a joke — that people plummeting toward the earth in an extruded flying object was a legal form of punishment, like how people in other countries have to lose a hand or listen to Smashmouth. Needless to say, my introduction to flying was far from positive.
The worst part is it never got easier. A person with a fear of animals may learn over time that certain creatures are harmless, anyone with a phobia of ghosts can gather proof through years that supernatural beings don’t exist, but very much to my chagrin an airplane will always have to potential to be a hopeless, ruthless, gravity-prone killing machine. To me, a flight to any destination is a brush with death and danger, which to me is the only real reason “Top Gun” should have won an Academy Award.
This weekend, at the mature age of 23, my solemn belief about airplanes was no different. I sat in the terminal awaiting my boarding onto the floating death tube and factoring in that this journey was a pathway to a certain death. For starters, they stuck me in an area called a “terminal” just after taking my bags into a secret compartment that I can only assume was a back room where all the belongings of my estate go for distribution. If you must ask, I bequeathed my metal dentist chair to Omar Gooding for “Wild and Crazy Kids”.
They asked me to step inside the plane. Everyone seemed incredibly friendly but had no interest in getting to know me. They must have figured it didn’t matter in the end. I swiveled into my seat and the first person I made contact with was a flight attendant who calmly asked me if I wanted crackers of peanuts.
Seriously? That’s all for a last meal? Look, I lived a good life. I didn’t do drugs or steal cars, and I was a huge proponent of Rock the Vote. You’d think I’d at least deserve a grilled chicken breast.
I did the normal routine of warning the man next to me of my innate fear. He told me I had nothing to worry about because he was in the Air Force and assured me everything would be fine.
Really? Then why aren’t you flying the thing? This just doesn’t add up.
I’m halfway through this through as we lift off. Eek.
Now, there are several kinds of scared flyers. There are the crying people, the jittery people, the sleeping people and even the four-glasses-of-jack-and-coke-ought-to-make-me-think-I-am-on-a-carousel people. I, on the other hand, am a compact-body, try-my-absolute-hardest-to-read -the-Sky Mall-magazine flyer. It usually does wonders — except for today.
High winds. Expect turbulence.
Suddenly my desire to buy a 3,600-CD holder is doing me no good.
I begin panicking and paranoia sinks in. What is that sound? Why is my wing point straight up? How come we haven’t heard from the pilot? Where are my cheesy Bugles? I specifically asked for cheesy Bugles.
I was convinced that we’re either far gone or en route to a secret mystical island with a mind of its own. Seeing no sign of Evangeline Lilly — again to my chagrin — on the plane, I assumed the former.
And then we landed two hours later. I lost 14 pounds at this point. I escaped death.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must replace some slightly soiled undergarments. Thug life, my friends.
– Steve Schwartzman is a junior majoring in marketing and minoring in speech communication. His column runs every Wednesday. He loves sports, comedy and creative writing. He encourages any comments at his email steve.schwartzman@aggiemail.usu.edu, or find him on Facebook.