I hate to fly. I have to be really motivated to get on a plane. Naturally, a girls weekend in Vegas is a powerful motivator. And I am unemployed, so I had to fly the cheapest way possible. That meant connections. Two flights each way instead of one (ei-yi-yi).
Here is my scared-of-flying ritual:
- Arrive at the airport (with a fever blister).
- Find the nearest bathroom and blow it out.
- Wait with a quivering sphincter to board the plane while scanning the crowd for any potential terrorists going to my destination.
- Board the plane (I pretend to be calm, when I am really yelling at myself for once again forgetting to wear flame-retardant clothing. I know, like it would matter).
- Find my seat. Then I mentally apologize to the person who has to sit next to me.
- Once that poor soul has arrived and settled in the seat next to me, I confess my problem like I am Catholic and not Presbyterian. I tell them they are required to talk to me during take off and landing. I also warn them turbulence brings out my Turrets and apologize for any future expletives. (No offense to any people with Turrets, or to Catholics or Presbyterians.)
- Time to land. Sweaty palms. I put on my imaginary breaks and sometimes grab on to the arm of the person next to me and chant to the airplane “please don’t bounce, please don’t bounce.” I have even been known to drop a curse word or two if the landing is particularly rough.
- Then when we land I am always shocked we are alive. It’s a really stressful process for me, but it always works out fine and I am always glad when I get where I am going. Next time, though, I will pay more and fly direct.
What are you afraid of?