Friday, February 07, 2003

From The Brain of The Giant Head

Flying: Pack Spare Underwear
Part 2

Flying is one of the most miserable experiences in the world, just below being set on fire and just above watching Temptation Island. From the moment I enter the cockpit and the flight attendants, formerly known as stewardesses, give me a smile and a wink, I know I just paid $300 to be tortured in ways only James Bond can withstand. And while I am quite comparable to Mr. Bond, I can’t say I’ve ever seen him cry like a Sally when they shut the cockpit door and start pulling away from the terminal.

That is the moment I realize that I peed a little.

As the plane makes it’s snail-paced dash for the runway, the flight attendants start showing you the safety procedures.

1. Fasten your safety belt.

Is that in case we have a fender bender in the sky with another Boeing 747? If that’s the case, shouldn’t we also have airbags and check to make sure there’s a spare tire in the trunk? I think they force you to wear it just so they don’t get pulled over and given a ticket.

2. Here is the proper way to wear your air-forcing facemask in the case that the pressurization in the cabin changes too rapidly.

Honestly, if the pressurization is changing too rapidly, that means you are taking a nose-dive toward the ground. Instead of putting on the facemask, I think everyone should be given an extra bag of peanuts. Even death row criminals get a final meal. Also, the LGB once pointed out to me that Cosmopolitan dubbed those masks as a ‘fashion don’t."

3. In case of an emergency, you can use your seat as a floatation device.

I think it was Jerry Seinfeld that once said, "Why don’t they make the whole plane out of that stuff?" Valid point. But really, what good does a floatation device do you when you’re dead. Instead, I’d like to leverage for those uncomfortable floatation sponges to be replaced with Lazyboys. If you’re going down, why not go down in comfort.

4. The emergency exits are located at the front and rear of the plane.

That’s a complete lie. As we were speeding up the runway, less than 5 seconds from actually lifting off the ground, I ran back and told the flight attendant to open the door and let me out because there was an emergency. When she asked what my emergency was, I thought it’d sound stupid if I told her I was terrified to fly, so I came up with a completely logical and sound reason for my need to leave.

"I left my son Kevin, who’s only 7 year old, at home all alone accidentally. I’m worried he may eat lots of junk food and watch movies he shouldn’t be watching. I also live in a giant mansion and I’m afraid two inept burglars, known as the Wet Bandits, may try to break in and harm him. While I know he’s extremely cunning for a boy his age and will probably come up with clever traps using Christmas Ornaments and Micro Machines to out-wit and capture these two rogues, I’m concerned that he doesn’t know the code to close the garage door. I better get off and check on him."

For some reason she didn’t quite buy my story and led me directly back to my seat and strapped me in so tight that I had to pull down the air-facemask for oxygen. My neighbor sitting in the seat next to me didn’t appreciate that too much and decided to fall asleep and lay his head on my shoulder. It wouldn’t have bothered me so much if he didn’t have an uncontrollable drooling problem.

During the rest of the flight, all these things happen in no particular order:
Passing out.
Waking back up and passing out again.
More nausea.
Being asked never to fly that airline again.

When we finally landed, I plowed through the crowd knocking over three children, a beastly man and an elderly woman so I could escape the hell know as flight 1240. As I got off the plane, I fell to my knees and kissed the ground in the airport terminal -- then I spent the next twenty minutes trying to clean the gum, which apparently was stuck to the carpet I kissed, off my face.

And as I praised the Lord that the flight was successful and I got home in one piece, I was saddened by the fact that no one was at the airport to pick me up. That used to be the job of my imaginary friend Mark. Boy I miss Mark.

As I returned to my house, I was so thankful that I made it home that I jumped right into bed and flipped on the TV. Unfortunately the cable was out and the only channel I could get was FOX, but that didn’t bother me. My life was good. Everything turned out A-Okay. This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

"Thank you for tuning into FOX. Sit back, relax and enjoy this special commercial-free 24 hour marathon of Temptation Island."