Please Don't Crash

Remember the first part of Final Destination where, as the kids get on the plane to fly to France (or wherever they’re going), one of the kids has a premonition that the plane is going to explode?  He gets off along with some of his classmates, who are pretty damn pissed at him, but while they’re bickering the plane they were on, which had just taken off, explodes.  Remember?

I do.  Whenever I think about flying, I remember that scene as well as Die Hard 2, the events of 9/11, and every plane crash that the news has covered and I’ve watched.  I think about the episode of The Twilight Zone when the gremlin was messing with the wing of the plane.  I think about the potentiality for errors when creating and maintaining the planes of our national airlines.  I think about the survival odds of a plane crash.  And then I freak out.

And right now I’m freaking out just a little bit.  I’ve never actually been on a plane in my entire life.  That’s right, in my 24+ years of life I have never been on a plane.  I’ve known that with my line of work I would probably have to fly somewhere sometime, but I kind of just ignored that thought.  Well, time has come for me to lose my flying virginity.

I have meetings with a client in Connecticut on the 1st and 2nd of December and will be flying out there the night of the 30th.  I know you’re all thinking, “Stop being such a pansy-ass wuss, flying is the safest form of travel there is today.”  I realize this.  Really, I do, but it’s the survival percentage of plane crashes that gets to me.  In stark opposition to, say, car crashes the fatality rate of a plane crash is pretty damn close to 100% for the big airliners where you have a pretty decent chance of surviving a car crash.  

I also have issues of trust when it comes to flying.  The reason I like driving or riding in a car with someone I know is that I am responsible for my safety (or the person I know is).  I have the ability to attempt to avoid accidents.  I can also choose who I ride with if I don’t want to drive so that I can ride with someone I trust.  I don’t know plane pilots.  For all I know they could be drunk circus clowns that eat kittens for breakfast and build voodoo dolls of their least favorite NASCAR drivers.  I’ve never had a chance to talk to them in person.

So I have about 15 days until I have to confront one of my biggest fears.  I’m going to try to ignore the fact that I have no choice and will be flying up until the point where I have to start packing for the trip.  Man wasn’t meant to fly, you know.  That’s why we don’t have wings… or rocket feet.