flights of fancy

i hate flying  in airplanes.  i hate it now and i hated it as a child- i would remind my parents of it by being sick on every flight trip they took me on.  during take-off: sick.  during landing : sick. cruising sans turbulence :sick.  airborne and  turbulent : sultana of  sick. i did survive all that and  emerge a swanky adult  who can be blasé about flying  and one who no longer  gets  green around the gills.   but, in truth, even now the night before a flight i am usually restless and  apprehensive of the forthcoming excitement. the next morning  will find me  a bit nervous -  i take many  a calming breath, buckle up, clutch my seat in what i think is an unnoticeable way,  grip the seat belt for extra assurance  and before i  know it i have been dropped off at the airport.

after a firm resolution to “take it all in stride” , i enter the terminal.  an ominous name for a building involving  travel.  the baggage check in is easy peasy and i give myself points for staying on course. (plus i am aware that my ride home would have driven off hastily and in relief)  the security check awaits and i know  i’ll breeze through having left my weapons cache at home.  the body pat-down is more intimate than any relationship-touching (of late) and i pointedly avoid  eye contact with the lithe and strapping young guard who has just felt and frisked my assorted bulges.   next is the  waiting lounge where there is a small sea of humanity, doing that thing that only humans do – checking their phones of course.  many multi-lingual (and mostly incomprehensible) announcements are made  for arrivals, departures, check-ins, late passengers and i get a whiff of a call for pre-boarding.  is that some Schrödinger thing where perhaps you board but you' ve not boarded? all too soon comes the call for the actual boarding of my flight  and the lucky mob  rushes to the transit bus all eager to be in the little box  that will soon be miles above the ground.

inside the flying palace my spirits aren’t much better – the stewards in their inhumanly neat uniforms and android hair make me feel like i’ve  nurtured  my fashion sense from the spin cycle of the washing machine.  but i do match their bored pasted- on smiles with one of my own!  i quickly scan the profiles of the seated passengers  and fervently hope that i am not going to be next to a parent with a toddler or baby- while i give the parent a sympathetic look i  know this isn’t going to go well.

 the spitting and spluttering baby will cry from take off to landing. (why not just be quietly sick like i used to?)  if there’s an older toddler there’s the added danger of speech involved and an incessant  volley of questions that the exhausted parent wisely pretends not to hear.  the next to- avoid kind of  passenger i hope not to sit near  is the rather oversized person who spills into the neighbouring seat. sitting next to this person means spending  a good portion of the trip with one’s elbows and knees clapped together – reminiscent of  long-distant slave trade transport of ye yore marked particularly by its lack of spaciousness. another challenging variety  i like to avoid is the newly married couple- easily distinguished by the new bride’s armload of bangles and with more mehendi ink than  tattoos on a sailor.  in tow is her adoring  and adored beau.  if you are part of their threesome (seating wise) they’ll give you a look of resentful dismay.  there’ll be some sprightly whispering  (mercifully to each other only) , feeding of stale and decidedly unerotic  airline food (mercifully to each other only)  and other  matrimonial  rituals which may  trigger off my  sickness in airplanes.  just kidding- i’m not the picky kind.

once seated next to my ideal fellow passenger - a taciturn newspaper reading-phone checking-eyes shut type, to whom it matters not what my good name is or where the devil i’m put up, who has neither new spouse  nor old infant, i buckle up. as the plane’s doors close my life flashes before my eyes.  in an abridged,  trailer- of- the- movie manner.  the safety presentation is not a bit reassuring as i worry if the stewards will help during an emergency or if they will refrain because that may  defile  their  uniforms.  i also wonder if i can “borrow” the neon-yellow life vest  ( placed under my seat) to  take home.....against federal regulations  with possible imprisonment the overhead voice drones on as if reading my mind.  i rule out any kidnapping of the little yellow vest. for now.

its time to take off  the pilot cheerily says and i try to breathe normally (is this my last time ever?) . i notice that a pretty bag (for any heave-ho) has been placed thoughtfully within reach. what more can a gal ask for? bring it on i say - all is well in the friendly skies.