I’m not scared of flying like I’m scared of public speaking. The prospect of public speaking fills me with mortal dread which intensifies right up to the appointed time. (But I usually find a way to weasel out of it before the appointed time.)
Flying doesn’t fill me with dread. It’s not until I’m going through Security that I start feeling insecure. I study my fellow travelers and decide who I would search more carefully if I were in charge. (Before 911, I used to decide which one I would eat first if the plane went down in the Andes. I still do that, but it’s not the first thing I do.)
This time I had something new to worry about. I woke up with a funny twinge in my right leg. It didn’t hurt, it was just an unfamiliar twinge. I began to wonder if it was an arterial bubble and the pressure in the airplane was going to force it up through my artery to my lungs where it would become a pulmonary embolism and kill me.
I scanned my fellow travelers to see if any of them looked like doctors. It was important to know which one was the doctor so I wouldn’t inadvertently eat him if the plane went down in the Andes.
X-Ray Man looked perturbed by something in my carry-on. He motioned someone else over, and they both looked perturbed. He summoned a third guy and they all looked perturbed.
Do you ever get that panicky feeling that you did something wrong but were completely oblivious to it? Like maybe I packed a gun in my carry-on, but have no recollection of doing it? I’ve never even touched a gun, but all it takes is three Security guys looking suspicously at my carry-on, and I wonder if I’ve done something unthinkable.
It was probably the knitting needles that concerned them; after a minute they nodded me through. I wiped the beads of sweat off my brow, put my shoes back on, gathered up my bags and waited for someone I could follow, because I had no idea where to go next.
Everybody else seems so competent and it makes me feel like I just fell off the turnip truck. How come they all instinctively know where to go and what to do? (If the plane ever goes down in the Andes though, they’ll probably wonder how I instinctively knew who to eat.)
Eventually I ended up on the plane. I took a good look around; it was just like the #14, except there were enough seats. Nobody looked good enough to eat, and nobody looked like a doctor.
The pilot sounded like he was about 17 years old and high. His mouth couldn’t keep up with his brain so he had to start over a few times. I told myself that flying a plane probably isn’t as hard as it looks. Anybody with a little training could fly a plane high. He got us to Detroit, safe and sound. Nice work Dude.
The Detroit airport was trippy. It’s got this tunnel with moving sidewalks and the whole tunnel is a light show with techno-popcorn music. I bet it was super futuristic back in the 70s. Now it probably doesn’t impress anyone except the very young, the very old, and those of us who don’t get out much.
During pre-boarding for the flight out of Detroit, the airline rep came on the microphone and said “Wheelchair passengers please remain seated.” She didn’t even blink an eye.
The trip home was uneventful except three-year-old Cameron was sitting next to me and he talked more than anybody I’ve ever met. It was like he had two mouths.
This is Ottawa on April 9th from the air. The snow was discouraging, but I’d have cheerfully disembarked on an ice floe if it meant escaping from Cameron.
By the way, did you know that when they say to turn off all electronic devices, they mean cameras too? Anything with batteries. I could have killed us all by taking this picture.
I wondered why they told me to put my camera away when landing in St. Petes.
I was growled at by some burly-looking guy for having a tiny Swiss Army knife on my key chain and had to throw it out before passing through the security gate. You mean they actually let you through with knitting needles… I would’ve let Cameron sneak at peak at your needles to show him you meant business!
I’m not afraid of flying… now having said that, I’ve never been in a plane, but the thought of it doesn’t bother me. I have been in a helicopter.. that was cool. but getting back to my point, while I’m not afraid of flying I am very much afraid of airports… I had to pick a friend up at Pearson in Toronto, and it was probably the scariest (and most aggravating) three hours of my life. First, just trying to get to the terminal was like trying to get to the minotaur at the middle of the labyrinth. Then When I fianlyl got parked and got to the terminal it took another 30 minutes to find out I was at the wrong terminal. I had to take scary monorail thingy to the other terminal… and believe me this thing was about 4 stories up and so rickity I would have rather gotten on a plane. I finally got to the right terminal, find out that my friends plane has landed but it will be another 45 minutes before they get off the plane and into the terminal…..!!!! By the end of the ordeal, if I had knitting needles, I would have stabbed someone and totally ruined it for all of us.
“I scanned my fellow travelers to see if any of them looked like doctors. It was important to know which one was the doctor so I wouldn’t inadvertently eat him if the plane went down in the Andes.” That made me gigglesnort right out loud… and my co-workers gave me the questioning eye. You know the one, the one where they’re wondering if it’s time for Toni to put on the huggy-coat.
Thanks for the laughs!
“I scanned my fellow travelers to see if any of them looked like doctors. It was important to know which one was the doctor so I wouldn’t inadvertently eat him if the plane went down in the Andes.” … “Eventually I ended up on the plane. I took a good look around; it was just like the #14, except there were enough seats. Nobody looked good enough to eat, and nobody looked like a doctor.”
This is great writing. I laughed out loud and then I made my husband read it, even though he was in the middle of reading something else. Then I sent the link to some other people who don’t even read blogs.
I’ve been through the tunnel at the Detroit airport a few times. The first time, I wondered if it triggered seizures or migraines, but since then I’ve decided I like it – the light show is synched with the music, and the blues and greens are very soothing. And I’ve had my knitting needles scrutinized as well, but they aren’t as dangerous as a well-sharpened pencil.
I agree with Julia,the story]s beautifully written, I love the humour & thank her for forwarding it to me (us who don’t read blogs!!)
I love flying but will likely never travel internationally again as it’s losing its appeal. A rising likelyhood of unpleasent surprizes.
I love the Border Leicester in the photo. Today I’m very sad because my most beloved little Black Border Leicester Ram just died. He was an heroic fellow with a beautiful temperament & gave me Nine little black lambs, eight boys & one girl.
I have wool for those who like to knit.
I can vouch for Rosemary! (No “H” that I know of.) She was even on Regional Contact a year or so ago! I don’t knit but I imagine her wool must be good. She might even have exotic stuff because she has had goats and yaks too. Pigs too but I don’t think they make wool.
Great story Zoom.as always!
Hope you had a great holiday
Ooops, I got a little behind on responding to comments. I’m sorry.
Welcome to the blog Rosemary. It’s always nice to get friends of friends in here, especially people who don’t normally read blogs. I’m sorry to hear about your dog; I’ve been there and I remember how it feels.
Loloa Granola is a pug, actually. I’ve never heard of Border Leicesters but I’m guessing they look a lot like pugs?
Where can we peek at your wool?
Hi Rob, Deb and Abby!
Valerie, airports are like that. You think you’re where you’re supposed to be and then you find out you’re at the wrong branch of the right airport.
Toni, Julia, and Rita – thank you!