Fear of Flying—Comedic Nugget

I’m terrified of flying! I break out in a cold AND hot sweat thinking about it. I get airsick just booking my flight. But if I must fly, then I want to be in a 747, a DC 10 – a mack truck of a plane, not some crop duster. Because when it comes to planes, size does matter.

Ted. That’s what United calls its petite plane. Ted.  Ted’s a drinking buddy…a pal…not someone you risk your life with. John, Edward…Those are names.

The last time I flew in a teeny plane I got to the airport in plenty of time to self-medicate.

Scotch…check…Valium…check…extra large vomit bag…you betcha. We board the flight in sections. Sections. There are 6 seats. I’m the only one flying and I’m in the last section to be called. And even then I can’t get a window seat.

When we finally take off, our flight attendant announces that piloting our plane is the hilarious Captain Stevens. Hilarious? Not capable, heroic or seasoned, but hilarious. If I want a laugh riot I’ll take Southwest.

I realize we’ve landed when I feel the stewardess prying my fingers from my seat. Then I look in the cockpit and the hair on the back of my neck stands straight up. My pilot and co-pilot are high fiving and chest bumping. Like this landing is unexpected.  Like this only happens every so often.  I half expect them to dump Gatorade over one another.

This gets me thinking. Who’s flying these planes? I bet not flight school valedictorians. We’re flying in the minor leagues with pilots who couldn’t make it to the show. With the farm team…with second-stringers.

And ask yourself this…what does it mean when their plane’s rear window sticker says, “How’s my flying?” God help us all if someone’s flying that close.


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