De omnibus dubitandum
4 Sep 2006
I hate flying. It’s not that I’m afraid of it – contrary to the idiotic masses of humankind I’m not particularly intimidated or brainwashed by fear mongering authorities and rating-craving media channels. If one plane fell out of the sky every fucking week I’d still merrily get on one, since it’d still be infinitely safer than getting in my car and driving to work.
No, I hate flying because it’s cramped, noisy and mind-retardingly boring. I’m a big fellow and airplane seats are fit to spec for smurfs. When I manage to ignore the screeching engines, wailing children, snoring elderly and bitching flight attendants, I’m still faced with the task of entertaining myself for eight hours straight strapped into a tight seat with a jittery screen ten rows ahead featuring whatever passes for inflight entertainment. Four hours I can manage – eight hours is a stretch.
Not to mention having to deal with airports. An airport is a focal point of the typically human concept of waiting. An airport is a place where you go from waiting for one thing to waiting for the next. It’s a succession of waiting experiences. You wait to check in. You wait to pass security. You wait for boarding. You wait for take off. You wait for landing. You wait for unboarding. You wait to pass customs. You wait to get your goddamn luggage. You wait to get your connecting flight. You wait and wait and wait until waiting itself seems to be the whole fucking purpose of existence.
Airports do their best to make you forget that you’re nothing but human cattle waiting to be shipped out, but it’s all commercially inspired. Ridiculously overpriced stores try to sell you shit you know you don’t need but you still feel urged to buy just because it distracts your attention from having to wait. Flatscreen TV’s show you Fox ‘news’ channels that specialize in terror-stories intended to scare your fucking wits out so you’ll happily comply with a body cavity search by a fat black woman in a crumpled uniform who always picks well-dressed white men out of the security queue. Airline personnel kindly remind you how happy they are that you chose to fly with their airline because they realize you do have a choice, but I don’t really have a fucking choice because my company selected the cheapest fucking airline they could find so I’m stuck with the smallest seats, the crappiest inflight food, the worst inflight entertainment and a collection of ridiculously gay or 50-year old flight attendants (or both!) who couldn’t get a paying job at a proper airline!
So yes, I hate flying.