Observation story today, not fiction.
I used to love to fly. When I was a kid our family flew to Florida almost every winter to visit my snowbirding grandparents in Ft. Lauderdale. We usually flew on the late, great airline, Eastern (which has disappeared along with American Airlines, Pan Am, TWA and more). Flying as a kid was easy- my parents worried about the tickets, the suitcases, and boarding passes. All I had to do was get dressed and follow Mom and Dad. I didn’t worry about plane crashes and turbulence was actually fun. When we got a little older my brothers and I would sit in coach while my parents sat in first class. If one of us was being particularly awful, my mom would have to come back to coach and one of us was selected to take her first class seat.
I remember a couple of scary flights in my teen years. I went to Europe the summer of 1975 along with 150 other high school students and chaperones. It was my first experience on a chartered airline, and while the plane was zooming down the runway, I watched about 10 pounds of dirt fall out when the pilot extended the wing flaps. All I could think was, “how old is this plane? And when was the last time it flew???” A year later my mother and I were on the last flight out of JFK in the face of an oncoming hurricane. The plane wobbled just as we left the runway and the people behind me screamed- I don’t know if I was more frightened by the wobble or the screamer. I also was the passenger on a plane whose engine belched fire, aborting the take off.
I took my first solo flight when I was in college. I can’t remember the circumstances, but for some reason my parents put me on a six-seater plane to fly from Newark Airport to Allentown-Bethlehem-Easton Airport. There were two pilots and two passengers and the pilots stowed the bags themselves. There was a curtain between the pilots and me and I got to see and hear everything that went on. Not fun. At all. And small propeller planes do not fly smooth and level.
Flying became more frightening when I became a mother. We didn’t fly all that much when my kids were small and when we did, my son had his own seat and my daughter sat in my lap. I was paralyzed by the possibility of a crash- who would I save first? My son was always restless on a plane and I would imagine him running off if there was any kind of accident. The worst flight was when I flew with them alone to Orlando- my son was 2 ½ and my daughter was 8 months old. Just a week before our flight, the top ripped off a 727 flying between the Hawaiian islands and a couple of people were sucked out. What if that happened to me? Would I be able to hold onto the child on my lap? Keeping my seat-belted was a constant challenge- what if he squirmed out of his seat and got sucked out? I know it sounds crazy, but I’m betting that other moms have these same fears.
Did I mention that I am claustrophobic? Yep. That doesn’t help. When jets were all full-sized it wasn’t too bad, as long as I could see the front of the cabin and sit on the aisle. Then someone dreamed up the regional jet which looks like a full-sized jet that got shrunk in the wash. The bigger ones aren’t too bad but some of them have only 18 rows and my head touches the ceiling when I walk down the aisle. I’m also a plus-size woman and some of those seats are a tight squeeze. It might be doable if these baby jets actually flew in just short hops, but the name “regional jet” is a lie. I’ve been on 2 ½ flights on regional jets that were only survivable with Ativan.
I have had a lot of really bad flights on regional jets. Two stick out- the first was when cheap airline flights booked on the internet were a new thing. I needed to go to New York with my two middle-school age kids, and got a cheap Continental flight that went from Pittsburgh to Cleveland and then Cleveland to New York. People carried really pungent foods on the plane like pizza with everything or a McDonald’s fish sandwich. This was pre-911, so the pilots left the cockpit door open during the flight. Just before we landed, a really loud alarm went off and there was a flurry of activity in the cockpit. We asked the pilot about it and he laughed it off…with perspiration pouring down his face. My kids wanted to cancel our next flight, rent a car, and drive back to Pittsburgh.
The second really scary flight was on one of those teeny-tiny regional jets. We had to take a bus ride in the pouring rain to the plane and then go up metal rolling staircase. It took awhile to seat everyone and as I was one of the first ones on the plane (because, horror of horrors, I was in the last row), I got to check out most of my fellow passengers. As the lightning flashed and the thunder rumbled, I watched while two disabled people were hoisted onto the plane via a hydraulic lift (still in the pouring rain) and dragged down the aisle on tiny, tiny wheeled chairs. One was followed by his wife who clearly had dementia and asked everyone if their seat was her seat. After they were seated another bus came with the rest of the passengers, including a couple of families with kids, a musician with a guitar, and a priest. All I could think was that we were one nun short of a disaster movie.
Last year I took a job that required travel and I flew a couple of times a month. I was exceedingly grateful to get TSA Pre-Check for nearly every flight. Business flying is a pain because you usually have a carryon and a computer bag. If you’re a woman, you either forgo a purse or buy one small enough to stuff into the computer bag. Your boarding pass might say zone 3 but when they call Zone 1 you rush onto the plane so that you can get your carryon into the overhead compartment. And that’s after they’ve called the Emerald Club passengers, Ruby, Sapphire, Diamond, Gold, Silver…preferred seating, first class blah blah blah. If it’s winter you have to stuff your coat in the overhead, too. I feel like a klutz as I maneuver my bags into the overhead and under the seat, stuff my coat, grab whatever I want to do for the flight, and edge into a seat that is too small for normal people, let alone those of us who are overweight. My knees are jammed up against the seat in front of me and I usually end up near a couple of bratty kids whose parents don't believe in discipline. Flight attendants smash into your shoulders as they scurry up and down the aisles and yell at you for being in their way. Passengers seated in the exit rows have to take an oath or find another seat.
I wonder if kids today think that flying is fun?
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