Fear of Flying

I hate flying.  I am not too sure why, aside from the fact that you are at a complete loss if the plane goes down. Everything is left up to those two guys sitting up front, and they have you a long way up off the ground.  Those simple thoughts aside, I think it is more down to a comfort thing as far as I am concerned…well, that and a few more neurotic points.

I recently flew home and came face to face with this recurring fear.  Of course, it does not help to quell ones’ nerves when you walk into the airport restroom for one of many pre-flight nervous pees and a little sweaty Mexican is standing in the corner by the sink, staring blankly in the mirror and clutching a beat up old guitar.  I catch sight of him as I walk in.  I do my business and as I step up to the sink I watch him in the mirror.  He stands there.  Sweat is running down his face.  He is holding his guitar in front of him.  He closes his eyes every so often then re-opens them to be petrified that he is still there and waiting on his flight too.  To me, he looks like a poor villager.  Perhaps this is his first flight.  I am just as scared as he is, but I am not freaking out in a public bathroom.  Still, I feel for the guy.

I sit in the waiting area, moaning about how Mexico City’s airport sucks.  It is hot in here and this place has no water fountains.  How can you relax in an atmosphere like this?  The nervous Mexican from the restroom walks past me.  I nudge Tonya and say, hey!  That is the guy I told you about” She says something typical like, “Oh…poor thing”

As our boarding time nears, Tonya points at the pilots about to board our plane. “Look.  Do they look drunk to you?  It looks like somebody had a drink to me!” she says. Great.  The flushed faced kid and old drunk are going to be in charge of my life now.  I squirm in my seat and try to stay cool, “Nah. Not really” I say in hopes that it will erase whatever amount of drinks they may have had.

I dreaded this flight because our seats were in the second to the last row.  I was going to be seated by the window.  I need an aisle seat.  I knew I would be uneasy for the flight.  On the bright side, I console myself with the proven statistics of the safest place to be on a plane if it goes down is at the back.  This is not the place to be when you are 6’7” and have very long legs.

Oddly enough, the panicked Mexican guy I saw in the bathrooms comes walking down the aisle.  He stows his old beat up guitar in the overhead compartment midway down the plane, and nervously makes his way towards the back.  Yes, the nervous guitar player’s seat is on the last row, directly behind me.   I wonder if he will start crying or freaking out during the flight, Lord knows he was feeling pretty scared when I saw him in the restroom.

Our take off was a bit odd.  As the plane flew down the runway, it tugged form right to left and wobbled as it left the ground. “Amateur” I thought, “I hope he gets his act together by the time he lands” It is while in mid air that I start to realize why I am afraid of flying.

I hate being cramped.  I hate breathing others peoples exhaled air. I hate smelling other people because on a plane, they usually do not smell nice.  I hate worrying who will sit next to you.  We were lucky.  A nice lady who sat quietly and worked on her computer the whole time.

I dread airplane food.  I read story after story about whole planes full of passengers falling ill from some rotten food they ate. Me?  I never will touch anything remotely related to seafood while flying.  I worry about what if I eat this chicken sandwich and get sick?  Chances are, everyone who eats them will get sick and that means we will all be vying for toilet time all at once.  This frightens me tremendously.  I pull my stale buns apart and pick at the cheese.  Surely that is pretty safe…I even eat a few bites of the stale bun.  They tried to be ‘gourmet’, but failed miserably.

I get nervous over silly things, especially over the fact of the line that starts building for the toilets the closer you get to landing.  I do not like feeling trapped, and a cluttered aisle freaks me out and is then compounded with the possibility of having to pee really bad on top of it.

I sat and looked out the window for most of the flight.  I was reminded again how much iPod ear buds suck when you fly.  Your ears hurt and you don’t get to hear your music.

The landing was rough.  Just as in the take off, he drops the plane then stalls, and it pulls from left to right.  As we hit the runway the plane jerks from side to side and he hits the brakes.  Perhaps Tonya was right, the young pilot was flush from just having tried several types of tequila before taking the wheel.

Our flight is delayed about 40 minutes or so for our trip home. Delayed flights make me nervous too.  I start to question why the plane is late?  Will they have time to do the pre-flight inspections?  Will the pilot and crew be all hasty and irresponsible?

This flight back brought a new fear into my book.  This time we had the very last row and on the same side.  This flight taught me the fear of sitting at the back when truly provincial Mexicans get on board.  I now appreciate those cultures that fly regularly and understand in cabin etiquette and behavior.  When I saw the old wrinkled lady with skin like leather walking down the aisle, I sensed it would be trouble.  Her grey hair in two braids and a small infant slung over her chest in a blanket tied around her shoulders.  Obviously, by carrying a baby in this ancient manner, she was new to this flying game.

I could hear a kid screaming and crying but never saw him.  The old lady had a younger girl with her, obviously her daughter.  They stood in the aisle and raffled through their boarding passes, all the while, the younger girl kept shouting at the crying kid who was seated apart from the confused parents and grandma.  The rest of the passengers were all standing prone, while these bumpkins yelled at the crying kid and at each other.  We had not even taxied yet and I was about to go ballistic.  Finally, a stewardess yelled at the simple folk and told them to get their act together.  The horde behind them were getting red with anger too, as you could see the agitation as they veered from side to side to peer down the aisle to see what was causing the problem and who was crying.

I started to think this flight would be a nightmare.  I was worried that after the stewardess yelled at them, the old lady carrying the baby in the ancient Mayan way would sit next to us in the empty seat.  Thank God, no!  Some young Mexican girl with ripped jeans and streaked hair was our guest.

For the trip back, we had ice cold turkey sandwiches with a small bag of baby carrots.  No iPod ear buds either. I had come prepared and bought a new pair of headphones while in Houston.  Tonya read her People magazines and new cookbooks and I listened to a bit of music and got a sore neck staring out the window.  Overall, the flight back was ok, but alas, a new lesson was learned.

Never put an old Mexican woman without flying experience in the very last row with a window seat.  As soon as the flight landed and came to a halt, she stood and complained.  She did not understand that 30 rows of seats in front of you had to clear out before you did.  She motioned with her hands and looked like she was about to cry as she argued with the passengers beside her.  She wanted out, but refused to see that the whole aisle was full of people and us chumps at the back could do nothing but sit and wait.  Once again, a stewardess had to yell at the old woman, who still stood defiant and complained, even though she would end up waiting until even after we had emptied out of the plane.