Musings of a Muddled Male

Flying

 

Bob Stevens

Muddledmale@gmail.com

 

      We put a lot of miles on our car because Ann, my wife, is not allowed on airplanes.  No, it is not because Bob, Ann's husband, is cheap.  It is because of the problem Ann creates for pilots whenever she is a passenger. 

 

      Ann, you see, is afraid of heights.  She is especially frightened at an altitude of 30,000 feet.  Her solution is to grab the arm rests of her seat tightly and use them to hold the plane up.  Now that technique may seem silly to you, but it works for her.  She has never been on an airplane that fell out of the sky so long as she was lifting up on the arm rests.  It works so well, in fact, that the first time she tried it the pilot was unable to get the plane down to land at our destination.  He would push the stick forward to bring the nose down, but when Ann saw the plane start down she would lift up harder on the arm rests and the plane would go back up.  Our flight from Seattle to Salt Lake City ended up in New York because Ann kept lifting up on her arm rests.  We only managed to land then because the pilot sent the co-pilot back to our seat to pry Ann's hands off her arm rests and tie them behind her back.  After that they just refused to let her fly.

 

      I could fly by myself, but now they won't let me board a plane either.  It's not because I associate with Ann.  It is because of the proliferation of x-ray machines at airports. No, I'm not talking about the machine that shows me nude when I pass through the screening area, although I admit that would likely get me kicked off the plane and laughed out of the terminal.  I am referring to the x-ray machine that scans my carry-on luggage to see what's inside.  There was a time when I packed mundane stuff like a bag of candy for emergencies, an extra sock in case I lost one of the two I was wearing, and an extra pair of underwear in case of an accident.  No, not that kind of an accident.  Mom always said to pack an extra pair of clean underwear so that I could put them on before I flew in case the plane crashed and I was taken to emergency.

 

       Such a meager collection of items is no longer sufficient, however, even for a short trip.  The other day, as we were packing to drive to Washington State to visit our daughter, I loaded my bag with things that are now absolutely necessary for the modern traveler.  When I checked I had the charger for my iPhone, a charger for Ann's flip phone, my iPad with its charger, the iPad key board and its charger, my razor with its charger, and my toothbrush with its charger.  My bag was so full of chargers and electronic gadgets that there was no room for my underwear or socks.  I even had to remove my emergency bag of candy.  And you can probably guess what the x-ray machine would say when it spotted my bag full of wires and circuit boards, "ALERT, ALERT, BOMB IN THE BAG, BOMB IN THE BAG, TERRORIST, TERRORIST!!!"

       That is why Ann and I made an agreement that we will never again try to fly on an airplane.  As part of our cooperative effort she also promised that she won't lift up on the armrests of the car if I promise never to buy another iPhone.  So what is a modern man expected to do?  From now on she will be driving and I will be walking wherever we go.  If you see an Expedition being lifted off the ground by the arm rests....that will be Ann, my wife, driving.  I will be the guy walking along side with his iPhone....and a bag full of chargers.