Think about it: People make airplanes. And people make mistakes. Every day. And mistakes can cause accidents. Accidents like airplanes falling out of the sky. And going boom!
I don't want to be a part of "boom."
Hello, fellow Patriot! Welcome to my ruminations. And this morning's episode is about my gut response to reading about the airliner on its way to San Franpoopco from Honoruru the other day. It was early in its climb out when something "untoward" happened and it plunged some 7,500 feet over a 45 second period. During which the paying passengers underwent just a bit over a 2.0 G ride. Yikes! And, it came with 775 feet of the uber-chilly Pacific Ocean before finally gaining control and regaining altitude.
Did you know the faster you go the more water acts like concrete if you smack into it?
Let that all sink in. You pays your money for a ticket on the Greyhound bus of today's sky, fully expecting to have a relative peaceful, relatively unremarkable journey and relatively smooth landing. A trip devoid of drama. Of all that sturm and drang associated with today's transportation sector. At least that's what you hope.
And what do you get? A thrill ride and a near-death experience! At no extra charge! Although there may be one or two humans among the more than 7.7 Billion on the planet who might enjoy this experience, count me among those would say...No, No, NO!
I used to travel on business, lemme' say here going in. By airplane. From early in 1973 until 1987 I averaged a plane a day. As in, a separate flight on each of the six days a week. As in, a separate flight number to somewhere or other, not just a continuing flight with a bunch of takeoffs and landings. As in, more than 1,000,000 miles in the air during that period. Much more.
I don't know how may more, although I have a certificate for 1 Million Miles from now defunct TWA (Teeny Weeny Airlines, heh, heh). From where I caught flights to nearly everywhere. Almost every day.
And during that period I can attest that planes were a) almost always new; b) half filled with businessfolk just like moi; c) manned by ex-Viet Nam war fighter pilots; and d) womaned by stewardesses of the youngest and beautiful-est kind. And yes, they called themselves stewardesses back then. Proudly.
And were those skies friendly? Yes, yes they were. Sometimes Very Friendly. I can personally attest...
As I mentioned, the guy on either side of you was likely wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase. That's because flying commercial was unregulated by our Gubmint back then, and expensive. I recall paying $405 of my company's money for a roundtrip from LAX to NYC on dozens of occasions. And that was 50 years ago. Just imagine what $405 means in today's inflated dollars.
It's $3,369.03, if you're interested.
So I figure I've taken more than 3,000 flights. To 49 states. And 37 countries. I even took 5 separate flights during one 24-hour period, during which I also taught an 8-hour class to PharmD's on theoretical sorbent dialysis science at the University of Ontario at Sudbury (another story).
And although I've never had a crash, there have been a few close calls. Even a fully foamed landing at St. Louis' Lindberg Field with fire trucks the media and all, due to a stuck brake on one of the landing gear. It resulted in a fire, which they quickly put out. No big deal, but it WAS an emergency landing, and it enables me to play the victim. I don't get to do that too much, being White and all, so I'm happy to put it forth...
But even though no messy crashes, or even a near miss, my butthole was as tight as Old Dick's hatband for every single minute of every single flight. That's because I'm deathly afraid of heights. As in acrophobic. So afraid of heights I wish I wasn't so tall. Deathly. I would have been a happy little dwarf. So flying, even though necessitated by my work, was like torture. But they paid me so much I couldn't say no. So I didn't. I just decided to bend over and kiss my ass goodbye each time the plane took off. Fortunately I got through it. But I recommend you don't even try...
Think about it. There are more than 25,000 airplanes in the air over the United States right now! And usually, almost always in fact, they manage to get where they're going without a bunch of noisy crashes with twisted metal and piles of rubble. They're stacked 1,000 ft. apart in height, and 1 mile apart in width. But that doesn't mean they couldn't get together on occasion. And the experience outlined above indicates they could.
And they sometimes do. Recall the crash between two fully-loaded 747's on the tiny island of Tenerife a few years back? There were well-trained pilots in both planes. And well-trained folks manning (womaning?) the tower that day. But 524 people died. And one of those planes was still on the ground.
And there have been 4, FOUR near misses in the past two weeks! That's not a good sign!
So the next time you feel like hurtling across the crowded skies at 500 mph in an aluminum tube, manufactured by the lowest bidder, packed to the the gills, every seat taken, operated by an increasingly less qualified group of folk selected according to their race, sexual preference and gender identity, and screwed together by a bunch of pissed off union members, who might not have tightened that screw, you might want to think again. Paying your hard-earned money to get felt up by a bunch of 400 lb. sexually-repressed TSA gang members. With bad breath. You take your shoes off to get abused while illegal aliens just walk across our borders, get free cell phones and a hotel room on Times Square.
And they're queueing up in line after line, shoes in hand, awaiting your permission to board their smelly, dirty, hot-lapped conveyances. Staffed by pissed off, overworked and underpaid sky waiters. Who signed up for "see the world," and are now seeing humanity's underbelly. Daily. And the guy in the seat next to you likely to be an aging hippie with a comfort chicken on his lap.
BTW, if you have to fly, I have the perfect response to your nosy seatmate who might ask what you do for a living. Just trying to start a convo when you're trying to catch some zzzz's. Just tell them, "I'm a retired shepherd." Worked for me every time.
So drive, take a train, hitchhike or walk. They don't crash often, but when they do, we're talking bruises here, not rivers of blood. And remember, you can't fall down...from down.
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