Airplanes

I recently had a little bit of a Fuck My Life moment last week when I realized that I had to get on three planes inside of eight days.  I don’t fly well (as in “I left letters for people I like before I got on that airborne deathtrap”), and I think I figured out why.

Let us contemplate for a moment exactly what an airplane is.  It is a bird made out of tinfoil which goes about 650 miles per hour several miles off the ground.  I think it’s the same problem I have with roller coasters—which are tiny carts often made out of wood, which go up to 65 miles per hour on tracks up to several hundred feet off the ground.  I understand the physics.  I trust the physics.  I do not trust engineers (sorry, Roomie).  One little thing goes wrong, and we crash into a mountain. 

As a secondary point, I don’t know who’s driving this thing!  Actually it’s probably a what.  This has nothing to do with my thesis that most people are idiots (surprising, no?).  Pilots know their shit, yo.  Except now planes are flown by autopilot most of the time.  And one thing I trust even less than engineering is computers.  So this gives us three Evil Computer possibilities:

1.       The computer fucks up, the pilot doesn’t notice, and we crash into a mountain.

2.       The computer fucks up, the pilot does notice, but since everything is flown by autopilot now he’s out of practice at actually flying the plane without a computer, and we crash into a mountain.

3.       The computer fucks up, but the pilot is Sully so we’re cool.

Notice that two out of the three involve crashing into mountains.

Now, I know perfectly well that airplanes are significantly safer than cars.  So are roller coasters, for that matter.  I freely admit that this is a rather irrational fear.  That said, I almost never contemplate my mortality upon getting into a car because they’re everywhere.  Also because I know how to drive one, so there’s at least an illusion of control.  If I crash a car, it’s at least partially my fault.  Sure, factors like weather or other people’s idiocy may play a role, but even if some drunk hits me, I would feel like I’m part idiot for not doing a better job of getting out of the way.

So in conclusion: steel box that better stay firmly on the ground at all times versus tinfoil bird several miles up in the air.  Too bad driving to Denver takes forever.