Light is Right Joe Campbell
Flyers are masochists. There’s something about being stranded in crowded airports waiting to board overbooked planes that excites them. There’s something about being scanned and probed and having their luggage exposed that thrills them. There’s something about being herded into a fuselage and squeezed into one-size-fits-all seats that challenges them.
Flyers enjoy cruising at thirty thousand feet without a parachute. They like taking off for that altitude while a flight attendant points out the emergency exits, in case something happens. They like being reminded that their seat cushions are life preservers, in case it happens over water. They like learning how to use the oxygen masks that pop out of the ceiling, in case something else happens. They like being told what might happen in two languages.
Flyers revel in breathing recycled cabin air while strapped and cramped into body numbing postures that cause the blood in their legs to pool and clot. Flyers delight in having the passengers in front of them lower their seats backwards and snore at them. Flyers exult in watching world weary flight attendants trudge tortoise-like with their goodie carts from each end of the plane to the centre, blocking access to the unisex, one-size-fits-none rest rooms.
Fighting for elbow space on narrow arm rests pleases flyers. Eating airline food while fighting for elbow space pleases them more.
Flyers thrive on turbulence. When they unfasten their seat belts and get up to stretch their legs, they expect to be tossed around. Smooth flights disappoint them. Rocky flights appeal to the adventurer in them. If they don’t use a barf bag, they feel cheated.
For flyers, there are few experiences more pleasurable than an interrupted flight. Instead of reaching their destination on time, they get to spend the night at an airport or in a crowded hotel nearby. If they’re really lucky, they get to sleep on the tarmac. This is more fun than losing their luggage.
When not in the air, flyers can’t wait to book flights. They delight in navigating online booking systems only to discover that the flights they want are unavailable. Or, that they’re available at higher than advertised prices. They think that responding to the instructions of recorded voices and pressing the buttons on touchtone phones is high living. They look forward to being put on hold, having their calls re-routed, and listening to dial tones. It reminds them of being stranded at airports, having their schedules changed, and hearing that their flights have been cancelled.
Flyers travel as far in three hours as drivers do in three days. They also compress into three hours the frustration drivers experience over three days. Air rage is condensed road rage. Flyers love it.
A plane load of airline passengers is not a community. It is a coincidental gathering of strangers. This suits flyers, as anonymity seems to attract them. While they accept the possibility of dying together, they wouldn’t think of living together.
As security tightens around airports, flyers are quick to comply. They eagerly cue up to be sniffed by dogs seeking drugs and explosives and, if all goes well, to be pulled aside to have their orifices inspected.
When flyers consider the progress they have made over the last forty to fifty years, they beam with masochistic pride. When they booked a flight by phone in the mid-1960s, they had to talk to a person. There was no way around it. When they picked up a boarding pass at the airport, they walked directly onto the plane. There were no security staff to make a fuss over them.
In the air, free booze flowed like water. It was disgusting. They had to put up with complimentary steak, chicken and seafood dinners, and if they changed planes or time zones on the way to their destination, they were sure to get two or three dinners the same day with more rich food than anyone should have to bear. Some had to eat off bone china with engraved silverware. Plastic wasn’t an option.
No wonder fewer people flew in those days and flights were partly empty. The airlines tried to make us think the planes were full by installing roomy seats with lots of space between them, but that didn’t fool anyone. Until they packed in more seats and squeezed them together, people stayed away in droves. Flyers are masochists.
I’m not a masochist, but I fly anyhow. There are sins I need to do penance for and flying is more effective than wearing a hair shirt.
