Terror In The Sky

Let’s talk about my trip home from AZ to Chicago, shall we? It took eight hours. That’s eight hours of sheer frustration and agonizing terror. And I'm not exaggerating.

First, The Frustration. We went from an 80 degree Phoenix to a layover in Kansas City, smack-dab in the middle of an unseasonable blizzard. Lovely. We boarded our plane to Chicago in which they graciously de-iced the wings for our safety, only to then close the airport and taxi us right back to the gate. We sat in the KC terminal for a terminally long time, as they cancelled all the flights after ours. I was worried. I SO did not want to have to drag three children around KC in the middle of a blizzard looking for a hotel. We ate airport commissary ham sandwiches that expired 3 months earlier and cost $8 a piece. And Lorna Doones, which are the armpit of cookies, in my humble opinion. (And my opinion should mean something, as I am a former Girl Scout.) I sat there, twizzling and fretting and just wanting to be home. But finally it was announced that our flight would, after all, fly off to Chicago in 30 minutes time. Halleluiah.

And now, The Terrror. I hate turbulence with a passion. I am a slightly nervous flyer anyway, still skeptical that 133,000 pounds of steel can remain airborne. It makes no logical sense to me. But whatever. Flying is the means to an end. It gets me to Vacation. But this flight was petrifying, even to the stout-hearted.

I assumed it was not going to be good when the pilot made an announcement at the beginning of the flight that went like this: (In an ominous voice) “Uh.....folks....uh...we’ve just received word from the control tower.... (static static).” Which lead me to imagine all kinds of scenarios. What word from the tower? WHAT WORD???? Is a rogue Airbus A380 piloted by a man with a death wish headed straight toward us? Have they spotted a twister in our path? Or a large flock of eagles?? What???!! .......and then he came back on, “It’s gonna be a very bumpy ride through the storm. Buckle up your seatbelts tightly, make sure all belongings are secured under your seat, text your loved ones good-bye while I down a shot of vodka to settle my nerves, and thank you for flying Southwest.” (He probably didn’t say they part about the text. Or the vodka. But in my sheer panic, I could have sworn he did. That’s what I heard, anyway.) And we were on for a ride!

It was dreadfully dready dreadful. The flight attendants weren’t able to leave their seats, so no drinks, folks. We were up, then down, then up again. The phlegmatics among us jovially lifted their arms up when the plane dropped, while others were pale and white-knuckled. Every airplane disaster movie I’ve ever seen flashed before me. I was scared witless. Falling out of the sky from 30,000 feet is not my First Choice Way To Die.

I know that turbulence isn’t supposed to be deadly. It’s normal and routine, so my pilot and flight attendant friends reassure me. But I don’t believe them. Not one bit. And I’m wondering why they cannot pass out xanax with the peanuts. Or offer us a light dose of general anesthesia, hanging with the oxygen masks as a flight option. Or have Airline Stress Counselors on board to help us meditate and think positive thoughts and give us soothing massages. It sure would have made my personal experience more tolerable.

Eventually we landed safely, as clearly I’ve lived to tell about it. But I am not anxious to step on a plane again anytime soon!