Airplane

Airplane

Okay, so why is everybody so calm on airplanes. Every time I look around all I see, and all I ever see, are calm faces.

Meanwhile whenever there’s enough wind to cause a pinch of turbulence, I start panting.

Let’s start over.

I hate flying.

Like iiiiiiiiii hate it.

I don’t know if it’s the feeling of not having any control of my life

or,

The feeling that I get from not having any control of my life.

I don’t know which one it is, but I do know I’m shittin-scared at take off.

Shittin-scared, for all my laymans out cha’, is not when you’re so scared you shit on yourself.

It’s when you start THINKING that you can only “hold tight” for so long before bad stuff starts to happen.

For reference, this happens approximately thirty minutes after you start telling yourself that holding it in is actually doing more damage to your body…compared to the social damage done from a mysterious melting fudge sickle dripping from the bottom of your pants.

Anyway.

But that thing right there, that feeling; that shittin scared stuff, chops me in the throat every time the wing turns.

Or when the plane wobbles…“And why is the plane wobbling?”

Or when it’s slightly cloudy outside, or if too many people start using their laptops.

Or cell-phones.

Like really dude?

You have to check your gmail account right now??

Can’t that wait Steve?

Come on man..Fuck.

I can only imagine myself standing on top of my plane seat, snapping my fingers saying, “It’s a team effort people.”

And a sea of lobotomy patients stare back at me.

I blow through my lips.

And then I’ll start thinking,

“I wonder how long it’ll take before people will know that I’m dead.”

Now assuming we crashed into a corn field, after the left turbo sucked up a flock of geese. 

Obviously there were no surviving passengers.

How long would it take before somebody noticed?

An hour or two…maybe?

Also assuming nobody was expecting my arrival, like the time I went to Hungary solo dolo.

A day? Two days?

And then I’ll think, “Well, maybe I can survive it?”

If I can just, somehow sandwich myself between these two seat cushions, then that’ll protect me from the blast. I mean, I’ll have a broken leg or something.

But that can heal.

I'll probably be the only survivor though. And with all that media.

“Ugghhck.”

Um…I think I’d rather die. ... .. .

“Helllloooooooo, is this thing on?”

“Is there anybody else out there who feels like me?”

[Take a breather]

“God..,” I can turn crazy quick!

And it doesn't take a whole lot to get me there.

Nothing from the backpack of insecurities that I sport around town, nor from any previous bad relationships. No old ex-girlfriends to blame for this delirium.

| Nope. |

And it wasn't from any "family stuff."

"Gosh."

It was from fuckin' planes.