In the past two months, I've taken three red-eye flights to Boston from Los Angeles. I probably don't need to tell you this, but flying these days is about as pleasant as jabbing a railroad spike through the tender webbing between your fingers. Each of these trips was centered around seeing family and friends, so I really shouldn't complain. But it's worth noting that getting stabbed with a shard of rusty metal would induce an acute, temporary burst of pain whereas flying produces a drawn-out panorama of physical and psychological misery that may or may not end, depending on how long the puppeteers/Masters of The Universe in the air traffic control tower decide to double-park your plane on the runway.
In the course of all this, I noticed that it's become customary to say "have a safe flight" to someone before they head off to the airport. Undoubtedly, this is a cousin of the common refrain of "drive safely" we chirp to each other before jumping in the car.
The purpose of reminding someone to "drive safely" is twofold:
- To encourage the person to operate their vehicle in a careful, deliberate, and defensive manner so their journey passes without incident. Akin to a coach patting his point guard on the butt, giving him a final reminder before he takes the court.
- To genuinely demonstrate that you care about the person and have them in your thoughts...even if you don't think of them once after issuing the plea, instead spending the afternoon splayed out on the couch watching football while ramming an entire drum of pretzels into your gut.
So what of the post 9/11 era tradition of telling each other to "have a safe flight?" What exactly do we mean by this? No doubt our intentions are genuine (especially with respect to #2 above) but how much of one's flight safety can a normal citizen actually control? Seriously. Do I look like the Secretary of Homeland Security? Did I miss something? Have I been up all night studying threat patterns and piecing together threads of terrorist chatter culled from top secret NSA audio logs? Am I a registered U.S. Marshall toting an attaché case full of titanium nightsticks and industrial grade plastic blades that I'll use to beat back the screaming radicals as they attempt to commandeer the cockpit? Am I, like, an intergalactic superhero with cartoonish powers that will allow me to snuff out any evil-doers who had the misfortune (after I'm done with them) to board this flight with us? Am I piloting the freaking plane?
Here are the things I control during my flight: The eight cubic inches in front of my belly and, for 45 minutes after boarding, my bladder (after 45 minutes, I'll lose control of this as well). I don't think it takes a Nobel Laurette to see that I'm pretty powerless when it comes to quelling the global scourges of terrorism, air rage, pilot error, and mechanical failure. So can we lay off the insincere figures of speech a bit?
If you really care about me and my travails in the unfriendly skies, how about using some of your miles to upgrade me to first class?
Posted by: |