My Resignation Letter to the Airlines of the World

Dear Airlines of the World:

Please accept this letter as notification of my intention to never fly again. I just can't keep putting myself through it. Every time I think I'll be OK, and on the flight to my destination I am typically OK, but always, always, on return flights home, I freak out.

True, this could be because I don't wish to actually return home. And I use the word home loosely, since it's tough for me to classify Boston as such a place. Boston is more of a holding area for me. Not unlike purgatory. Purgatory with Duck Boat Tours.

While it may be true that my freak-outs are physical manifestations of my unhappiness and discontent with Boston, they are undoubtedly instigated by the various conditions that arise from flying. Namely, turbulence. Or, as I call it, Incontinence at 40,000 Feet. All it takes is one or two little shakes, and as far as I'm concerned, my life is over. No matter how minor the turbulence may be, by the time it's abated I have already gone through my mental Death Checklist:

• Have I previously stated, clearly and concisely, my desire to be cremated? Wait, that doesn't matter. At least I'll save my parents a few bucks at the crematorium. They like to clip coupons and get bargains. They'll appreciate my going this way.
• Are all of my assets and affairs in order? Ohh, right...what assets and affairs? I leave behind a pile of debt, two cats, and the only affair to consider is my imaginary one with Adrien Brody.
• Did I accomplish everything I wanted to in this life? Umm, no. Hell no. But at least now I can have cocktails (because I damn well better be able to drink in the afterlife) with Marlene Dietrich, Heath Ledger, and Estelle Getty. That'd be sweet.
• Do the people I love know that I love them? Of course they do. I mean, I never sent out construction paper hearts with doily borders saying so, but I'm sure they know.
• If they make a TV movie out of this air disaster, who will play me? Well, that's easy, and I've surely stated this intention repeatedly in my life. The choice is obvious: Bea Arthur.
  

With the items of my Death Checklist ticked off, I'm as prepared as I'll ever be for that plane to plummet to Earth. I then spend the remainder of the flight awaiting the inevitable.

So you see, this is emotional torture, and I simply cannot put myself through it again. Especially after what happened the other day....

I had a doctor's appointment in Chicago on Friday, and John and I did a sort of whirlwind day-trip. We left at 6:00am, flew to Chicago, went to the appointment, hung out in the Windy City, and flew back to Boston at 11:00pm. And sure enough, as soon as that damn homeward-bound plane took off, the turbulence started.

I recently read a very helpful book about how to incorporate various Buddhist thoughts and principles into daily life. In one example, the author relayed an experience she had on an airplane. Though she'd never been prone to panic attacks or a fear of flying in the past, she suddenly found herself a nervous wreck on an airplane before it took off. She called for the flight attendant, who was very receptive and asked if she'd like to talk with the pilot. The author agreed, and the pilot emerged from the cockpit. He reassured the author that he would get her where she needed to go, safely and smoothly, and listened to and calmed all of her concerns and panic-inducing scenarios. She immediately relaxed, and mid-flight the pilot sent her a handwritten note, via the flight attendant, reiterating his promise to get her to her destination safely and what an honor it was to serve her. To this day, the author keeps this note with her whenever she flies: a talisman of serenity and assurance.

The moral of this story is that even in our darkest hours, if we just have the courage to reach out, people will be there for us. If we're falling, our compatriots will catch us. We're all part of one big human family, and we all look out for each other.

Well, on board Friday's flight, I clearly had the bitter stepchildren of the family, because this was not my experience at all when I tried to implement the author's strategy.

Once the seatbelt sign dinged off, I told John the story I've just relayed here, and how I was going to do something brave and reach out to the professionals on board to help me. I made my way to the back of the plane, where two flight attendants were stationed.

"Excuse me," I said, "I was hoping you could give me some advice. I'm not the best flyer, and I'm freaking out a bit at the moment. What do you usually tell people to help them deal with this?"

Flight Attendant #1 looked at me blankly for a moment, before turning to her colleague.

"I don't know," she said. "Phil, what do you usually tell people?"

"What?" Flight Attendant #2 replied. "I wasn't listening."

"People who are afraid to fly. What do you tell them?" she repeated.

"Oh, you'll be fine!" Phil assured me, with all the sincerity of an in-flight beverage can. "Would you like some ginger ale?"

No I don't want any fucking ginger ale, I thought. I want a handwritten note from the pilot, quelling my fears and saying "Thanks for flying this ghetto airline that delayed your flight for some unknown reason for three goddamn hours". Also, I'd like a photo of him in just his little commander's cap.

I didn't say this, of course. I declined the ginger ale, and Flight Attendant #1 chimed in.

"What don't you like?" she asked. Finally! Now we're getting somewhere!

"Is it the loss of control?" she continued. "The pressure changes? The turbulence?"

Bingo. "Yes!" I said, "The turbulence. I can't handle it."

"Well, there's not supposed to be any. Keep yourself distracted. Just don't think about it," she advised absently and returned to stocking the beverage cart.

"You'll be fine," Flight Attendant #2 repeated.

"Umm, thanks," I muttered, and went back to my seat, dejected.

Once securely buckled back in, my panic not transformed in the slightest, I pulled out the airline magazine from the seat pocket in front of me. I didn't have the focus to read the book I had brought along, but maybe I could still follow #1's advice and keep myself distracted. The magazine was romantically titled "Hemispheres", and on the cover was a picture of...a great big ship.

This was surely a sign. I wasn't meant to fly ever again. I was meant to stick to land travel, relying on cars, trains, and great big shiny ships like the one beckoning me from the glossy cover of "Hemispheres". I started planning out all my future travel. There is still so much of Europe I haven't seen, but that's OK! The QE2 is back in business and more luxurious than ever! Sure, I'll have to sell a kidney and maybe one of my cat's paws to be able to afford a ticket, but it isn't air travel and I have no problem with ships or boats. Choppy waters don't bother me, I don't get seasick, and buxom young sailors...ah yes, this is the grand plan. I could disembark in Southampton and train it all around Europe. I might even be able to go to parts of Asia and Africa as well, via train or boat, but I'm still researching that. All I know is the heavens opened up and dropped an undeniable sign in my securely-buckled lap. The sign read, FUCK FLYING!

So, Airlines of the World, I turn in my frequent flyer cards, my personal collection of vomit bags, and my velor neck pillow. I will not be needing them again. It's not that I need to feel coddled and fawned over when I'm on a plane, but I do expect to be heard and, at least to a small extent, cared for. I mean, flying is ridiculously expensive for someone in my income bracket, and we don't even get a shitty meal or a heavily-edited-for-content movie anymore! The least you can do is allay my fears with a little more compassion than a plastic two-ounce cup of Canada Dry. I shudder to think how I would've been treated had I been outwardly freaking out as much as I was inwardly. Gasping for air, sweating profusely, heart racing, soiling the seat...would I still have been instructed to keep myself distracted? "Oh, you'll be fine! Just ignore that warm puddle of stink you're sitting in!"

Not that you give a fat toad's butt. I understand that airlines the world over are in dire straits and struggling mightily to avoid bankruptcy. May I suggest grounding your fleet and investing in some lovely ships, trains, and comfortable multi-passenger automobiles? I'm sure I'm not the only one who would support such a move, but I realize that this suggestion is one that you are unlikely to consider.

When it comes to bankruptcy, foreclosure, unemployment, and skyrocketing gas prices, I'd like to impart a little wisdom a wise old sage once gave to me.

Just don't think about it.

Safely on the Ground,
Donn Saylor