Regret At Leisure
Flying Tin Cans.
I hate airplanes.
I'm not afraid of em like I am terrified of driving or that awful terror of standing too close to the train tracks when the train is zipping by (the wind it creates leaves me feeling that I can suck me under any minute and that is why when those crossing rails come down I step back another ten feet or so, Preferably next to something I can grab on to in an emergency). I don't lay awake nights thinking about the certain doom of a free falling airplane suddenly hitting the surface. (though I suppose if I gave it some thought I could probably work up a healthy fear, tha is just the way I am).
I just hate feeling uncomfortable and sick. The pressure changes always do me in. The ears bug me the whole way up and then again on the way down. Then there is that wonderful bouncing around feeling if the a little turbulence is encountered. Nothing like a little panic and nausea to add to my comfort. And what comfort it is. Those seats are designed by evil engineers for average people so when me and the four other fat people the squeeze into the same row end up taking out seats It is all uncomfortable touching, violated personal space and never enough leg room.
Of course the other poor slob next to me will want to make small talk. I always have a book as a sort of defense in these situations, but that doesn't always work. The nervous talker will just look at your book and then ask, "So what is it about?" as a sort of wedge that somehow morphs into a three hour long life history. Earphones might block out the nervous talker completely, but make it impossible for me to read and music alone doesn't not keep my uncomfortable self occupied enough for a trip.
So now as my trip approaches, what I agreed to in the outset as a fun Idea, a chance to see a part of the country I've never been too, I start to dread. The flying and the airport become this terrible fog I can't see through.
In summary: I hate flying (and airports for that matter). Sometimes you just have to be rude to the nervous talker to keep em from yammering at yas for a three hour flight. I'll probably enjoy myself, but I'm going to whine about having to fly anyway.
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I hate airplanes.
I'm not afraid of em like I am terrified of driving or that awful terror of standing too close to the train tracks when the train is zipping by (the wind it creates leaves me feeling that I can suck me under any minute and that is why when those crossing rails come down I step back another ten feet or so, Preferably next to something I can grab on to in an emergency). I don't lay awake nights thinking about the certain doom of a free falling airplane suddenly hitting the surface. (though I suppose if I gave it some thought I could probably work up a healthy fear, tha is just the way I am).
I just hate feeling uncomfortable and sick. The pressure changes always do me in. The ears bug me the whole way up and then again on the way down. Then there is that wonderful bouncing around feeling if the a little turbulence is encountered. Nothing like a little panic and nausea to add to my comfort. And what comfort it is. Those seats are designed by evil engineers for average people so when me and the four other fat people the squeeze into the same row end up taking out seats It is all uncomfortable touching, violated personal space and never enough leg room.
Of course the other poor slob next to me will want to make small talk. I always have a book as a sort of defense in these situations, but that doesn't always work. The nervous talker will just look at your book and then ask, "So what is it about?" as a sort of wedge that somehow morphs into a three hour long life history. Earphones might block out the nervous talker completely, but make it impossible for me to read and music alone doesn't not keep my uncomfortable self occupied enough for a trip.
So now as my trip approaches, what I agreed to in the outset as a fun Idea, a chance to see a part of the country I've never been too, I start to dread. The flying and the airport become this terrible fog I can't see through.
In summary: I hate flying (and airports for that matter). Sometimes you just have to be rude to the nervous talker to keep em from yammering at yas for a three hour flight. I'll probably enjoy myself, but I'm going to whine about having to fly anyway.
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posted by Rich Rosenthal II at 2:13 AM
2 Comments:
I'm betting your dad has some surgical masks for when he's in the basement, sanding. You could pair that with a book/internet printout on the bird flu.
Or you could, at his first question, reply with "I feel nauseous, I don't feel like talking", "I have gas, I don't feel like talking", or "I think i'm coming down with strepp throat. Can you see any circular, white patches on the back of my throat (and proceed to open your mouth really wide and say ahh), my throat really hurts". Or, you could just bring cough drops, cold pills, and anything else to make you look really sick. That'll keep em away.
Let me add to that--in a large, ziplock type baggie to keep in your lap, bring cold pills, airsickness pills, a little travel pack of kleenex, cough drops, a folded washcloth to wipe sweat from your brow, anything from the medicine chest you can bring on a plane. If he says anything, just start coughing, blot at your brow, breathe heavily, and say you're feeling really ill.
I would say just tell them straight foreward that you don't want to talk to them, but i've had that backfire--he wanted to know why. And when i gave him the death stare, he started coming up with theories and asking if that was why....bluntness isn't as strong as sickness.
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