AirPain

Flight 170 from Burbank to Seattle had trouble written all over it.

“Folks, it appears there is a significant storm developing,” the ticket agent announced. “We’re going to board immediately, in order to beat the storm.

I sure hope we win.

As promised, my husband and I were quickly herded onto the plane.

The next announcement came from the captain.

This initial introduction is important. The captain’s calm demeanor is what puts the passengers at ease.

“Uh, yeah…hey, so umm…well…” he trailed off.

I said calm, not stoned.

“So, yeah… there seems to be, um, a situation…”

This was followed by silence.

Were we supposed to guess the situation?

After a long pause, Captain Spicoli continued, “Um, because of the high winds and short runway, uh… we’re not able to take off (longer pause)…the plane is a little…”

And that was it.

I don’t know what was more concerning, the short runway, the high winds, or the fact that our captain couldn’t form complete sentences.

The plane is a little…?

20 minutes later we got our answer.

“So, uh… the plane is a little… heavy.

We waited 20 minutes for “heavy?”

“Uh…we’re going to dump some fuel, and um…recalculate the numbers,” the captain said. “We don’t want to kick anybody off because of, um… the weight.”

Was he serious?

Was there a scale on board?

Why did I wear so many layers?

On the upside, he knew the definition of “recalculate” and used it correctly in the sentence.

Ten minutes later, our captain announced some semi-good news.

“Uh, yeah…I think we’re going to try and, um, take off.”

TRY?

Let’s lose the try. Just take off.

My telepathic motivational speech must have reached him because after some white knuckles, our supersize plane managed to depart from our undersize runway.

A little shaky at first, but then the winds calmed, the plane stopped swaying, and like an angel from heaven, something beautiful appeared:

BEVERAGE SERVICE!

Flight Attendant Debby started in the front of the plane, and as passengers of row 29, we had a long wait. However, good things come to those who wait, and soon we were only 8 rows away…6 rows…3 rows…

Then, bump, rattle, whoosh! The plane rocked sideways, and before I could say, Pinot Please, Flight Attendant Debby and her aluminum box of fun disappeared…

and the captain reappeared.

“So, um, yeah, folks…we’re hitting some turbulence.”

Thank you Captain Obvious.

It was as if we were in a giant washing machine.

Windows rattled, tray tables thudded, lights flickered.

“This is bad,” my husband commented.

Thank you Passenger Obvious.

I peered at the oxygen mask. I know it’s there in case of emergency, and oxygen is a pretty nifty idea, but you know what would be even better…?

Sippy cups of emergency wine that deploy from the ceiling. 

It doesn’t have to be fancy, just a house red, which drops into your lap.

Did I just invent something?

After half an hour of being tossed around mercilessly, the winds subsided and the plane leveled.

The lights came on, and the intercom crackled.

I braced myself for words of wisdom from Captain Spicoli, but this was a female voice, and she spoke in hushed tones.

“Elaine? Elaine?” she called. A few deep breaths before one final, “Elaine?”

Then click.

Silence.

Was Elaine another flight attendant?

A passenger?

Were they summoning her from the great beyond?

The hairs on my arm stood up. It was like I was part of a supernatural airplane horror film.

Did I just invent a new genre?

Half an hour later, the flight took a turn for the better (aeronautical pun intended). Debby and her magical elixirs finally made it to the good people of row 29. “What will you have?” she asked.

Hmm, what pairs well with imminent death?

“Cab,” I answered.

“Same,” my husband said.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead. “I tell you, I’m not even a drinker, but after a night like this…”

That’s not a phrase you want to hear from your flight attendant.

After filling our cups, my husband held his up.

“Here’s to…” he started.

“A quick and painless death,” I finished.

 Cheers!

For the remainder of the flight the turbulence lessened and we were able to enjoy our wine and dinner. And when I say dinner, I’m referring to my sad sack of reject pretzels.  

As Debby refilled my water, I whispered, “Who’s Elaine?”        

“Tray tables up,” she answered.

“Did you hear that?” I said to my husband.

“Yes, tray tables up.”

“Not that. She ignored me when I asked about Elaine.”

“Is it possible we heard it wrong?” he asked. “Maybe instead of Elaine, Elaine, they were saying, the plane, the plane.”

I digested this new information, nodding. “Like Tattoo, on Fantasy Island.”

This flight had a lot of layers to it.

Twenty minutes later, our captain threw out some sentence fragments and we began nosediving.

So I guessed that meant we were landing.

However, this landing felt more like one of those carnival rides, where you’re freefalling from ridiculous heights, screaming in terror, and thinking, why did I put my life in the hands of a carny?

As we plummeted to our demise, all I could think was, I wish that carny was our pilot.

To say we came in hot was an understatement.

There were screeches and sparks and burning rubber. We may have lost a wheel.

The plane tilted to one side as we skidded along the runway.

I held my breath.

The skidding eventually slowed to a gentle lurching, then one final screech, and…

We stopped.

Along with the other passengers, we couldn’t get off that plane fast enough.

Outside the cockpit, Flight Attendant Debs popped a Xanax and bid us good night.

Looking past Debs, I attempted to catch a glimpse of our pilot. I needed to know, who was this menace to the sky? And then I saw something: huddled in the corner of the cockpit was a small figure. 

Was that a toddler?

Was this “Take Your Child To Work” day?

If so, well done, kid.

As I exited Flight 170, I pondered other questions:

Would “Elainegate” ever be solved?

Who can help me market SCEW (Sippy Cups of Emergency Wine)?

And most importantly:

Were our return trip tickets refundable?