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Fears and jeers of flying

 

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I once dreamt of being an airline hostess for Japan Airlines, and even wrote them a very complimentary letter as part of a class project.  At the age of nine, there seemed no better ambition than having a job that would allow me to fly to serve TV dinners to passengers while I enjoyed free travel to and from Japan.  There was something glamorous about boarding a plane, wearing a uniform, giving a safety demonstration and then eventually falling asleep while listening to the heavy whirr of Rolls Royce engines.

My ambitions would eventually change once I began to love music and film, but I remained a good passenger who enjoyed flying at every opportunity. I made the usual commuter trips to Disneyland, where plane loads of passengers would board wearing their SF Giants shirts as if to announce their presence in hostile territory (no one in Orange County really cares about such things, by the way!)   I even enjoyed turbulence, and would be that obnoxious passenger that continued to peacefully eat a meal while the plane was doing massive roller coaster dips.

My fearless love of flying would begin to unravel during an evening commuter trip to Los Angeles, when my husband told me that the plane’s wing had caught fire.  I immediately panicked and almost started to cry, asking a million desperate questions even though he kept repeating the phrase “…I’m joking…”

The love would come to a full halt, sprouting wings of hate during a flight to Seattle, where I spent most of the time singing 70s soul songs with the passenger who sat next to me.  He seemed intrigued that I knew so many lyrics, and we enjoyed ourselves until the plane began to shake a wobble as we were enveloped into a wind storm during our final descent.  I wanted to trust that things would be okay and looked to my fellow passenger, a strong and well-built military man, for some assurance.  He would provide none when he said, “I’ve been on some terrible military flights, but none of them have been as bad as this.”

I spent the next few minutes reconciling myself to death, wondering if the plane would spiral to the neighborhood below and worrying myself into a frenzy until I noticed that the plane had landed.  I spent that evening in a bar, contemplating alternatives to flying between Seattle and Los Angeles.  It was such an exhaustive fear that led to the sort of terror that caused me to throw a United Airlines lunch bread across the cabin during the first wave of turbulence on my return flight home (pre-9/11 so there was no arrest).   A very nice flight attendant sat a very handsome experienced flyer next to me, and he explained the ins and outs of air travel as he held my hand.  I eventually made it home with a few functioning brain cells, but the fear would never quite leave.

Over the years, I would find ways to try to overcome my fear.  I became an anonymous member of the Pprune boards (Professional Pilots Rumor Network), where reading forum posts by the pilots allowed me to understand that 1) flying is quite safe; and 2) people who play Flight Simulator seem to believe that they are professional pilots.  I also tried to avoid any domestic airline not named Virgin America, or at least opted to sit in a better class where my fear of flying would not co-mingle with my irritation at being treated like a factory farm animal.

On my most recent trip to Japan, I thought to experiment with heavy drinking before a flight.  This was contrary to my usual pre-flight strategy of possessing an alert mind that would be most useful in exiting a plane during an emergency.  Instead, I perused the lengthy free drink options in business class and opted to consume the free heavy liquor, starting from the champagne and continuing on with that high class of liquor that had way too many consonants in its name.  It was not likely that I would become that passenger who would try to open the door mid-flight or pull a Gerard Depardieu and soil the nice carpeting, but there was also a reason any attempt to become less cognitive was a last resort sort of strategy.

On the day I was to fly to New York with my college friend Suzee,  while we were fresh faced and all of 19, a friend came over with some very special brownies.  Having not eaten a thing during the day because of all the last minute packing and rushing about, I ate about eight of those brownies, knowing full well that they were filled with hash.  I always thought hash was just stronger marijuana, and having it in brownie form seemed all the more delightful.

That feeling would last right up until the flight was called for boarding, when my mind began to turn into a TV test pattern as waves of delirium roared through my brain, collapsing all my sensibilities into one giant bowl of mushy corn flakes.  Suzee had to help me on the plane as her voice sounded so soft, as if she were standing a million miles away from me.  I had left things behind at the Gate, and Suzee had to leave me in my seat and retrieve them from our friend George.

I must have looked a drooling, weaving sight on the plane as it was still boarding, and Suzee held my hand and tried to calm me down as best as she could.  At one point, a very nice stewardess came and asked if I was okay. I remember Suzee explaining the situation as best she could by simply saying, “…she had too many hash brownies…”  The stewardess came back with a very nice cup of herbal tea for me, and it did absolutely nothing.  I remember closing my eyes during the flight and “sleeping,” if such a thing were possible during a very bad drug trip, as visions of every idol in Heart Castle came alive in my mind.  Every last scene of Kabuki theater, where cross-eyed demons stomp across painted scenery, began to repeat itself as I felt my accelerated heart rate beat in my ears as thick, heavy bass drums.

At some point, the images began to fade and I caught a tiny bit of sleep before the plane landed at JFK.  Suzee deserved a Medal of Valor by this point, and she managed to get me off the plane, onto a bus, into our hotel and in my bed where I wasted an entire day sleeping off the effects of hash brownies.  Those brownies, however, were accidentally left at my house.  My mother brought and shared them at her place of work, a tiny Japanese restaurant that suffered through one day of uncontrollable, unstoppable laughter at the expense of its loyal customers.  Oh well.

That particular experience made me swear off any hallucinogenics while flying, and it remained in the back of my memory as I managed to stop drinking  at the free champagne.   I was still fearful during the flight, and every bump and dip from the turbulence sent my stomach lurching towards the Pacific Ocean.   However, I was flying an airliner that provided exceptional service and made the whole flying experience somewhat pleasant.  Maybe I am getting too old to be scared of flying.  Or maybe I was just too entertained by the samurai Babette’s Feast movie that was part of the in-flight entertainment.

Despite my long time fears, I love everything about airplanes and flying.  I spend time studying configurations of new passenger airplanes, and would like the opportunity to fly the A380, that double decker plane that resembles a gigantic pot bellied pig.  I saw one parked at the gate while walking through LAX, stopping to stare its wondrous size while noticing two tiny pilots shifting around in their seats as they did their pre-flight check.  It brought back that childhood excitement of flying, and I stopped to take photos until it pulled away from the gate.

Image(Exploring different snacks at the ANA lounge in Narita Airport)

I also love the airport experience.  While I am not a fan of the overcrowded LAX, they have done a magnificent job building their new international terminal, an homage to movie sets and silent film towering over high end designer and duty free stores.  I also love experimenting with different foods at the airport lounges. LAX’s new Star Alliance lounge offers a wide selection of food and drinks, along with an outside sitting area featuring dramatic fireplaces and a waterfall.

There are so many positive aspects of flying, and most all of it comes from not flying economy class, where one is suddenly subject to long and stressful TSA lines, vying for overhead luggage space and squishing into hard chairs.

If I were to be completely honest, however, my fear of flying comes from my dislike of modern flying.  I understand how 9/11 had changed the rules of bag packing and made suspicious behavior near intolerable on flights, but that does not explain why a flight attendant would refuse to distribute a blanket to a passenger on economy because he should have “dressed warmer”.  It does not explain why a United Airlines flight attendant serving us in business class would pull out grapes from a half-eaten tray of food and hand them to me for dinner, as if I deserved to be punished because I fell asleep during meal service.  It does not explain the rude flight attendant whose bad command of Japanese caused her to say the Japanese word for excrement during a pre-descent speech as she practically yelled at passengers.   It does not explain why the level of frustration increases the moment one boards and finds no space for luggage because airlines have decided to charge extra for check-in bags.  It does not explain why I can barely get a snack on a large, well-known domestic airline while a podunk small operation from another country can provide a full meal for an hour’s flight.  Most importantly, it does not explain why flying most American carriers comes with such poor service when compared to ANA Airlines or Virgin America/Atlantic or Japan Airlines or the old Sabena Airlines, who still put so much pride into serving passengers.

Yes, I am aware that domestic airlines have excellent pilots are among the safest in the world.  However, would it be less safe if the airline opted to offer better in-flight service, free check-in luggage service or something other than free peanuts?

I am not the only one in this world afraid of flying.  This can be a horribly stressful experience, and every little bit of kindness and gentility goes a long way in relaxing a passenger whose mind is filtering through terrifying scenes from “Air Turbulence”.  Flying does not have to equal the experience of standing in a DMV line for five hours.  I can still remember the childhood rush of excitement of feeling the plane pushing to full speed down a runway before moving upwards, carried by the buoyancy of tamed winds that brushed past the wings.  I remember receiving wings from a stewardess dressed in a kimono.  I remember the flight attendant who gave me a tea when I was at a very low point.  And I can remember the circle of flight attendants who spoiled me with ice cream bars and snacks while on a one hour flight to Nice.  I am in awe of the service that Delta Airlines — an airline that makes me seriously believe that traveling across America on a donkey would be a better experience – provided while on a grief trip to and from Japan.  Some aspects of flying never change.

Some never should.

Published inCommentaryJapanLos AngelesShort Stories

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