I have always loved airplanes. When I was a toddler my mother would take me outside when she would hang the laundry to dry. I would sit in my little chair looking up at the sky. At the sound of an airplane I would point my chubby finger skyward and scream, "airpane, airpane". Later, after spending years building model airplanes, I would find that I was afraid of heights. I was not just afraid, I was flat out scared! Yep! Terrified! If man had been meant to fly, God would have given him wings!
But, those Wright boys from Ohio didn't know that, so they built the airplane. And since then airplanes have become the way to get from one place to another place FAST.
When I was twenty-one-years-old, the federal government decided that I was needed in the United States Armed Forces - the Army. I was drafted. You see there was a bit of a scuffle going on in southeast Asia at that time, and they said my services were needed. That meant that I had to fly. The cross-country flight was not so bad; we stopped a lot. My belt size went from a 38 to a 35 inch size from tightening my seat belt.
When we flew across the Pacific I saw the longest crap game in the world. It lasted from San Francisco to Manila. I was very concerned when we stopped over in Guam. The plane was descending and descending and I could see nothing below except water. I began reciting what the stewardess had said about landing in the water. I was not sure that my seat cushion would support me; it did not look like a life jacket. I looked for someone to trade with, but it looked like everyone had the same size cushion. After boot camp I was at my lowest weight since I was fourteen. That would help. A few minutes later the plane made a funny noise, like metal scraping against metal, and I was thrown forward against my seat belt restraint as the plane slowed on the runway. Soon I was off the plane and inside that airport building. They call it a terminal. I don't like the idea of something being terminal. That kind of signifies the end of something. It could be me!
There was that one time while in the Navy when some of my shipmates and I had to wait for our plane to be retrieved from a snowbank before we could board it. The plane was an R4D, also know as a DC-3, a WWII vintage aircraft still in service. In those days you always faced aft on military aircraft. I don't like to ride in any vehicle faced toward where I've been, although faced forward I may not be able to see where I'm going. It was a rough ride back to Norfolk, cold, drafty, and noisy. Years later I was taking a very small airliner out of Albany, NY. That flight was kind of dicey. The plane had a late departure due to mechanical problems. Naturally you always wonder if they got it repaired properly. It was a small twin-engined plane with a pod underneath for luggage. I think it was a Piper or Cessna. When we finally were taking off, the safety instructions came from a tiny speaker sounding an old eight-track tape from the sixties. Then the Captain spoke over the speaker with the "Welcome aboard"speech. That's when I found out we had a woman pilot. I don't have a problem with women. (I married two of 'em and my mother was a woman.) But I was not ready for a woman pilot. A soon as the plane lifted off the runway, all the snow in the world descended on us.
I have flown many more times since then, and some flights have been quite memorable. Once in Alaska I was in a Turbo Otter float plane flying through the mountains. Yes, I said through the mountains. The plane did not fly over the mountains but between the mountain peaks. They were craggy peaks with a smattering of snow. They were like giant hands with claws reaching up to grab us. I decided that I would look up front to see how the pilot was driving. He was a wiry looking fellow with salt and pepper hair stuffed under a battered New York Yankees baseball cap. There was a grin under his huge handlebar mustache and his eyes were fixed on an attractive blonde in the co-pilot's seat. His demeanor did not instill confidence, but both of his hands were on the control yoke. Back in my seat I tightened my seatbelt, pulled my earphones back on and closed my eyes. The landing was my smoothest ever on water. Actually it was my only landing on water.
Frequently, when flying, an adult must restrain one's self from committing the crimes of infanticide plus. I added the plus to include the killing of older children also. In air travel the length of time a child can cry is measured in miles or destinations. I overheard a young mother say rather nonchalantly, "Oh yes, he cried from Chicago to Cleveland". THEY ARE USED TO THE CHILDREN CRYING! WE ARE NOT! Don't they know our malice can spread to include them AND their children.
I have my own list of caveats while flying.
- Always get an aisle seat. (You can stretch one leg out.)
- Sit next to a small person. (I don't like to have flesh spillage from the next seat.)
- Sit near the lavatory.
- If "Airplane" is among the selection of inflight movies, DON'T WATCH IT!
- This is the most important rule. If there is a small child in the section of the plane you are in, disregard previous rules and MOVE AS FAR AWAY FROM IT AS POSSIBLE
Just one more note on my air travel adventures. We, my dear wife and I, were on a flight from JFK (the worst airport in the world) to Charleston, South Carolina, late one evening on a small airliner. There were not very many passengers. There was a very rotund man sitting in front of us. Had he been, and I don't think he was, a pro wrestler, he would have been called a man mountain. The flight attendant asked him to move to the other side of the aisle. I think this was to balance the load on the airplane. The skies were not friendly to Delta that night and I don't think they would have been friendly to United either. Yep, rough air! It has been said that the air is smoother over thirty thousand feet, but he who said that wasn't on the plane we were on. About a half hour into the flight things did smooth out though, and we were served coffee and a cookie. Soon after I felt the call to nature and made my way to the rear of the plane. The "Vacancy" sign was illuminated, so I walked right in and sat right down. Did I say this was a very small lavatory, maybe a little smaller that a Porta-John. It was the full width of the rear of the plane. As I was about to reach for the toilet paper, the solitude of my confines was broken by the crackling of the loudspeaker. "This is the captain speaking. Please refrain from walking about the aircraft. Please remain in you seats and fasten your seatbelts!" So there I am, an old man with his pants around his ankles, precariously trying to maintain his balance while trying to reach a roll of toilet paper which is hell bent on not losing any of its sheets. As luck would have it, the next movement of the aircraft hurled me into the opposite wall and I was able to grab the objects of my desire. An opposite movement allowed me to complete the operation I had begun seemingly eons ago and escape from the tiny lavatory.
I wrote a letter to Delta Airlines requesting seatbelts in the lavatories of their airliners.
I have found a way to overcome many of these issues I have with air travel though. I fly first class. Snuggled in my cocoon in first class I am oblivious to my surroundings.
