I Hate Flying (A work of mostly fiction)

I Hate Flying

I hate flying.

I mean really, really hate flying. Getting on the plane? Hate it. Taxiing down the runway? Hate it. Accelerating down the runway for takeoff? Hate it. Takeoff? Good God. The whole experience is terrible.

Throughout the entire flight, I fully expect the plane to crash. I’m not exaggerating. That shudder you feel when the plane hits a crosswind? That’s the plane about to crash. That groan when the landing gear is retracting? The plane about to crash. Turbulence? That’s the plane about to burst into flames, turn over twice, and then crash.

Because I’m morbid (or just an idiot), I’ve done some research. Not that “flying is the safest mode of travel” crap people throw at me. It may be true, but that’s just statistics. I’m talking about research of actual plane crashes. They’re horrible. Just horrible. Remember that South Korean airliner that was shot down by the Soviets in the 80’s? It took that plane twelve minutes to hit the water. Twelve minutes, knowing how totally screwed you are! Or how about that plane that crashed out of New York in December of ‘01. The tail came off. And all along I thought that piece wasn’t, you know, detachable.

The point is, flying is stupid. It doesn’t make any sense. Man can swim, so I get boats. Man can run, so trains and cars make sense. Do you know what we can’t do? Fly. So if something goes wrong on the plane, there’s a whole lot of nothing you can do about it.

And the bitch of it? I have to fly for work. I fly all the time. Why would I take this job then, you might ask? Well, I wasn’t always like this.

It was back in 2000 when I got to be like this. I was on a flight from Phoenix to St. Louis. Easy trip, one I’ve done many times. The plane hit some turbulence, which was usually no big deal, but that night was different. I knew the plane was going to crash. I just knew it, deep down inside. It was the worst feeling I’ve ever had. As the plane bounced and danced through the night sky, I knew that any second our tin can with wings was going to lose power, explode, rip in half, something. You know how in books a character knows he or she is going to die and gets all peaceful about it. Not me. It was like I’d been dipped in a bucket of terror, and I wanted out. I wanted to jump out of the plane and escape. I’ve never been so scared.

The plane landed fine (obviously, since I’m writing this). But since that day, I can’t fly without waves of absolute horror rippling through me. I should just quit my job and get one that lets me stay on the ground, but I’m in my fifties. And if you could see the size of the alimony check I have to write every month... basically I’m saying I can’t afford the pay cut I would have to take if I switched jobs. If they would legalize gay marriage so my ex-wife could remarry, maybe I could afford it, but I’m not holding my breath. And yes, I’m saying that when I die, it will be my ex-wife’s fault. Just in case she asks.

So here I am, about to board another plane. I hate this. Have I mentioned that? I wish I could stop being such a baby, but I can’t. Every time I walk down the jetway I want to fall to the ground in the fetal position and cry. Literally cry. I can barely hold it in sometimes. You should see how much antacid I go through a day, bottling all that in.

I’ve never liked how your footsteps echo as you walk down the jetway. It has a dull morbidity to it. The last steps of the condemned man as he walks up the hastily-constructed wooden steps of the gallows. Ahead of me, I can see into the plane. A stewardess is smiling at me with that professional smile that says she hates me back. I know I’m late, but I was busy throwing up and trying not to cry in the bathroom. I could never tell her that, of course. Maybe I should have just thrown up on her? Bet she’d lose the smile then.

I step into the plane, right foot first (I always do that. Sometimes I think I should switch to left-foot first, and that would cure me. Or it might make the plane crash, so I stick with the right). Nodding to the stewardess with my own polite smile, I take a left into the cockpit.

I never should have become a pilot.