Fly Me to the Moon

          ‘Pan-Am’, a TV show halfway through its first and possibly last season, follows the exploits of a handful of flight attendants and a couple of pilots as they zot around the globe.  The show is set in the heyday of the airline, in the late sixties or early seventies, when flight attendants were still called air hostesses and flying the skies was every little girl’s dream job.

          This of course got me thinking about the days when, because of my job, I was required to frequently fly around the country. 

          I hate flying now and I hated flying then.  But at least back in those days it was easier to gain some semblance of calm by being able to check out the plane before it actually took off into the wild blue yonder.  Then, because passengers were required to walk from the airline lounge…usually a one-storey building resembling a shed with a wind sock on the roof… across the tarmac and up a flight of steps to the door of the plane, it was an easy matter to check and make sure there were no missing rivets on the body, no bits hanging down that shouldn’t be, and the plane had the necessary number of wings and engines.

          Now, of course, passengers are herded down tunnels and into, you assume, a big airplane.  It could just as easily be a truck.  How would you know?  It’s not as though you can actually see the plane.

          So, on one of my trips overseas, having talked myself into remaining calm on a scheduled flight, I took my seat next to a most disagreeable gentleman.  My bright ‘Good morning,’ was met with a scowl after which his head disappeared behind a newspaper. 

          ‘Oh great…fourteen hours on a non-stop flight with Mr. Grumpy Britches,’ I thought.

          But moments before take-off the flight attendant appeared at his side and advised that the Captain had asked said gentleman be upgraded to first class.  The man was thrilled.  I was ecstatic.  Anything not to have to sit next to Grumpy was a major good thing.

          His replacement next to me was a young man who at least smiled and nodded to me and all was well with the world.

          We were just gaining altitude and I was staring out the window at beautiful Sydney Harbor, when there was a loud bang, the plane shuddered and the engine closest to my window started making a frightening grinding noise.  This was smartly followed by smoke beginning to drift from the top.       Well, that was it!  Obviously we were all going down into the drink…goodbye world!

          But, our imminent death apparently hadn’t occurred to the flight attendant.  With her mic turned up to full volume, she began running down the list of great things that were going to happen on our very long flight.  Movies would be shown, drinks would be served followed by such fabulous eats they would go down in history.

          ‘We’re the ones going down,’ I wanted to shout.  ‘We haven’t got time for movies or drinks.’

          The young man next to me, realizing how terrified I was, tried to make things better.  But a very clammy, sweat soaked hand patting mine was really not the way to do it and not much help.

          Eventually the Captain, in one of those laid-back, calm voices addressed us: 

          ‘Seems we’ve hit a couple of birds folks and we’ll be returning to Sydney.  Just relax and enjoy the hour or so we’ll have to fly around in circles to dump fuel.  Oh and don’t worry about the fire trucks and ambulances on the tarmac as we taxi in…they’re only there in case we burst into flames upon landing.’

          We’ll he probably didn’t say the last part but it’s what he meant! 

          For indeed nothing says ‘dead people’ like several EMS vans racing along the tarmac in line with a landing plane.

          But, we landed perfectly and were issued free upgrades for a future flight assuming anyone was brave enough to actually get on another plane ever again.

          I still hate flying but sometimes (like when visiting family and friends) you’ve just got to do what you’ve got to do.