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An addition to my endless list of phobias.

Ever since 2009 became The Year For Planes To Crash, I have become more and more terrified of flying. When I went home in February for my grandfather's funeral, it was just days after the plane had gone down over Buffalo. When that flight landed, everybody on the plane started clapping, probably thankful that we didn't meet the same fate.

After the Air France plane disappeared over the ocean a little later in the year, my paranoia regarding being in an airplane only escalated. Because, really, think about it. You are in a tiny little tube hurtling through the air at a million miles a second. There is no way you can get out and no way at all that you could possibly survive if you crashed. You are putting all of your trust into the experience of the pilot and the safety of the aircraft. That's just terrifying.

When I went home again in June, I got so nervous every time the plane experienced any turbulence that I started praying in my head and bracing my body for impact. There was one moment, when the plane hit a particularly nasty bump and dipped quickly down for a moment, that I was almost certain that I was going to die.

Since then, I've been completely put off by flying. Prior to this year, flying was my transportation of choice. It's quick, simple, and you get free food. Somebody once told me that the chances of dying in a car accident or a train collision are much higher than dying in a plane crash. Still, I feel that with the former two options, you at least have some chance of survival. This is why, when I booked my flight home for Thanksgiving, I started experiencing this dread, a feeling of impending doom, as if by clicking the "purchase" button for my flight, I had somehow sealed my fate: The Day That I Will Die.

My brain obviously needs a lot of help. I'm a worry wort to the extreme and I have a huge tendency to psyche myself out and blow things way out of proportion by obsessively thinking about them. This is why, when I only had a week left until my flight home, I had the sudden urge to look up things like lists of celebrities that have died in plane crashes.

On the way to the airport yesterday night, my nerves started freaking out even more. When I checked the time on my phone to make sure I was on time, it read "9:11." A normal person would not think twice about this. I, on the other hand, was like, "OH HELL SHIT. THIS IS A SIGN. I'M TOTALLY GOING TO DIE."

While waiting at the arrival's gate for my plane to start boarding, I was watching CNN and images of Osama Bin Ladin's face kept appearing on the screen. Naturally, I took this as another omen of death and started wondering if I should just walk away then and there. I decided against it and instead boarded the plane when my row was called.

When I walked onto the plane, my heart sank into my knees. The plane was absolutely miniscule. Like, there were only four seats in each row, period. This would not really be a problem except for the fact that, whenever I discussed my fear of flying with my father, he always responded, "Well, you're not going to be taking one of those rinky dinky little planes. Those are the only ones that ever crash. Normal sized ones are fine." As I looked around the aircraft cabin, any nervous feelings I had before were skyrocketed into overdrive. I felt like I was walking into a toilet paper roll as I hunched over and tried to find my seat.

I sat down and tried to occupy my mind with something else. I played with my phone for a bit and then I tried turning on the TV in front of me, flipping through channels without really paying attention. I tried repeating "you will be fine, you will be fine" over and over again in my head. None of this really helped and eventually, I just started getting antsy while the crew prepared for departure. If I'm going to die, I thought, there's no need to draw it out. It really didn't help that the toddler sitting in front of me kept singing Ring Around The Rosie with particular emphasis on the "We all fall down!" part. It was über creepy.

Soon, we were underway. The rickety little plane pulled out from the gate and I could feel every little bump the wheels hit as we taxied our way up the runway. I could feel the wind rocking the wings of the plane as we moved steadily along the tarmac. I felt the engine turn on and the plane readying itself for liftoff. And then it stopped. After a few minutes, the captain came on the loudspeaker and said, "Sorry, folks, but we appear to be having some trouble with the computer on one of our engines. Unfortunately, this means that we have to go back to the terminal. We're going to have the tech guys come take a look at it and once they're done doing their little tech-guy magic, we should be off in the air."

Okay, I'm sorry, but when there is an AIRPLANE ENGINE involved, I do not want to hear the phrases "trouble," "computer," and "tech-guy magic" coupled together. Ever.

When we arrived back at the terminal and the crew had us waiting for a good forty five minutes, the captain came on the loudspeaker again to clear some things up. "Okay, folks. So it turns out that one of our ignitors is broken. We can still take off with just one, so after the tech guys check everything out and I sign some paperwork, we should be underway. I tried to get us another plane, but this is really the faster option."

As soon as the captain said this, headlines began flashing in my mind. "HUGE MISCALCULATION BY PILOT LEADS TO VIOLENT PLANE CRASH!" "PLANE EXPLODES JUST SECONDS AFTER TAKEOFF!" "MASSIVE DEATH TOLL!" "THEY SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER!" I started texting my mother all of the information the pilot had said, partly to ease my nerves and partly so that she would know what to tell the reporters after the plane crashed.

By this time, my heart was racing and I was about 80% certain that I was going to die if I didn't get off the plane. This was about the point when I tried to calm myself by becoming all philosophical. I began telling myself things like, "What is death, really? 'Tis but another stage of existence! It's only the beginning! In the grand scheme of things, it's not that important!" And then I decided that, "HELL NO! I don't want to die! GET ME OFF THIS PLANE!"

I wondered if it would be way too obnoxious to request to get off an take another plane in the morning. That extra 20% of uncertainty keep me in place, though, and after another thirty minutes of "tech guy magic," the plane was all set and ready to go. We taxied down the runway, picked up some speed, and finally took off.

The plane did not explode. It didn't even experience that much turbulence. The craziest thing that happened was when the guy sitting across the isle from me, apparently even more scared of flying than I, started shaking back and forth and clutching his head as we prepared for landing. It felt nice to not be so alone.

I got off the plane in one piece and met my mother in the lobby. She had a hug and a a foot-long chicken finger sub waiting for me. Going home is so great.

November 24, 2009 at 06:19 PM

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