Thursday, May 19, 2005
Getting home
In the air again I remember how much I truly hate to fly. I am in no way afraid of planes or the idea being a few miles above the ground with nothing to stop your decent into a loud and fiery death if something “unexpected” occurs.
Turbulence is fun.
The captain’s voice on the speakers, “there is weather out the right window”, I am on the left, “we may experience a few small bumps. Everyone should sit with their seat belts locked.” What about my tray table?
The plane shakes. I think of what a martini must feel. Shaken not stirred.
I am not at all afraid of the flight. I hate flying because of the forced small talk required in these situations. “Pretty shaky.” “They call this a few bumps.”
No matter how you try you will never sit next to someone normal on a plane. The entire basis for normality is skewed by the gravity-defying act of air transport. You may think yourself a normal and likeable person but as soon as you climb the steps into the cabin you become your neighbor’s nightmare.
The armrest becomes a battleground.
“There is a beautiful view of St. Louis out the right side window”
I am on the left. Cornfields.
As the turbulence the need for small talk diminishes and the ranging battle for the armrest continues during a period of awkward silence.
My ass is sore.
I need to piss.
Bathrooms on planes are a joke. As a woman in a public restroom you have a choice, to sit or hover. Airplane bathrooms are discussing. Just behind port o potties and truck stops. We all know what does and could occur in the bathrooms of the sky. So I choose to hover. The problem, hovering requires a person to squat over the pot while leaning forward. The “room” is much too small to make such a maneuver.
I cross my legs.
“For those of you lucky enough to be sitting on the right side of the plane, you will be able to see a hundred hot air balloons in flight.
I am on the left. Nothing but clouds.
Turbulence is fun.
The captain’s voice on the speakers, “there is weather out the right window”, I am on the left, “we may experience a few small bumps. Everyone should sit with their seat belts locked.” What about my tray table?
The plane shakes. I think of what a martini must feel. Shaken not stirred.
I am not at all afraid of the flight. I hate flying because of the forced small talk required in these situations. “Pretty shaky.” “They call this a few bumps.”
No matter how you try you will never sit next to someone normal on a plane. The entire basis for normality is skewed by the gravity-defying act of air transport. You may think yourself a normal and likeable person but as soon as you climb the steps into the cabin you become your neighbor’s nightmare.
The armrest becomes a battleground.
“There is a beautiful view of St. Louis out the right side window”
I am on the left. Cornfields.
As the turbulence the need for small talk diminishes and the ranging battle for the armrest continues during a period of awkward silence.
My ass is sore.
I need to piss.
Bathrooms on planes are a joke. As a woman in a public restroom you have a choice, to sit or hover. Airplane bathrooms are discussing. Just behind port o potties and truck stops. We all know what does and could occur in the bathrooms of the sky. So I choose to hover. The problem, hovering requires a person to squat over the pot while leaning forward. The “room” is much too small to make such a maneuver.
I cross my legs.
“For those of you lucky enough to be sitting on the right side of the plane, you will be able to see a hundred hot air balloons in flight.
I am on the left. Nothing but clouds.
posted by Jody @ 7:32 PM 
