Tuesday, 7 February 2017
You know when you're on a plane. And you're frightened of flying? Because you're in a fucking metal tube 35,000 ft up in the sky with no idea who's driving the thing? No idea whether the pilot is even there. He might not be. There may just be an empty cockpit as you hurtle towards your doom. No one knows do they.
You're just herded on, barked orders at (which you're pretty sure will do next to fuck all should the metal tube fall out of the sky) and then that's it. You're at the mercy of the pilot and crew. You have to cross your fingers and hope that none of them are drunk, mad, ill, absent, suicidal, murderous... All possibilities. Actually pretty real possibilities.
And then there are the flight crew. Just unphased by all this. As the sweat starts to prickle in your back and your finger start to twitch as the count down to take off ramps up. You can get off at any time right up until a certain point. Then you can't. No matter what. You're on that plane and you're flying wherever.
It's usually at that point when I stare around wildly (but quietly - I'm a very quiet panicker) wondering how in hell people are ordering cups of coffee and sitting there chatting. Some are even laughing. As if they have no care in the world. Amazing. It gives me a feeling close to awe, and also that I am a bit mental. Because I seem to be the ONLY ONE freaking out at this totally unnatural scenario over which I have no control.
Smiling masks of denial over ever present terror.
I used to feel like this only when I flew.
Now I feel it every day.
What a time to be alive.