Back Seat Pilot

I'm not a great flyer. I use ‘great’ because I’m not totally crazy like “I see a colonial woman on the wing churning butter” kind of girl. I tend to keep my hallucinations to myself. You wouldn’t even notice how crazy I am if you were sitting around me. Now if you were sitting next to me and you happen to be my husband then you’d probably notice.

On flights that aren’t turbulent I can forget my fears and act completely normal, carry on conversations even. If it’s bumpy, hold on to your seats. I immediately go into survival mode. I start reading the safety pamphlet, eyeing the nearest exits and making plans on which passengers I need to elbow out of my way should I have to make a hasty exit.

Mark tries to tell me the scientific details of flight that, he feels, should calm me down. What he doesn’t realize however, is that it’s very hard to digest physics when my mind is fully engaged with keeping the plane in the air (obviously and your welcome fellow passengers). It can’t do two things at the same time. You try listening to why the engines propel the plane forward even when it’s windy WHILE you’re keeping an Embraer Jet at 36,000 feet. It can’t be done, y’all.

Unfortunately, we had to travel this weekend and thankfully my husband came along this time. Here are a few snippets of our conversation:

I’m pretty sure the wings shouldn’t be wobbling like that. Actually, I’m 100% sure. Maybe we should call the flight attendant.

I’m 100% sure you’re wrong. Do not call the flight attendant.

Isn’t Columbus on our left? I don’t think we should be banking to the right. Oh, wait…that is our left.

<<blank stare>>

Do you hear that? It’s a buzzing sound…OMG…the wheel door didn’t shut all the way. WE CAN’T LAND WITH ONE WHEEL. Maybe we should alert the flight attendant.

I’m sure the wheel door shut. Stop digging your nails into my hand, please.

I’m just going to call the flight…

DO NOT CALL THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT.

He is going way too fast to land. Shouldn’t he be slowing down now? I don’t want my parents to have to identify my body. My hair looks like crap today and my mom will totally hate that I didn’t brush it.

You need to go fast in order to make sure there is sufficient wind going over the wings in order to blah blah science blah.

WHAT? So you think my hair looks gross, uh? I bet you think I’m fat too. That is just awesome. Thanks a lot, Mark.

Sigh

It’s tough being my husband… and my pilot.