I think Louis CK has the best explanation of why flying is the greatest thing ever invented and why you’re a shit bird if you’re going to complain about it:
“You’re sitting in a chair in the sky. You’re like a Greek myth right now!”
That being said, holy fuckity shit fuck fuck do I hate flying. Like, oh my god, let me tell you. If you’ve actually met me more than once, I’ve probably told you that flying is my biggest fear followed by heights and rounded out by small quantities of peanuts in air-tight packages.
Have I mentioned that flying is the fucking scariest thing ever? Every change in altitude feels like the engines are going to cut off abruptly and you’ll fall out of the sky like a slightly more intelligent form of the notorious “Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy” whale –which is a slightly more self aware (and slightly more improbable) form of a missile, for those who haven’t read one of the greatest books of all time (fuck objectivity).
Landing is a scary fucking thing. Every second, you are basically falling out of the sky. The pilot could sneeze, jerk the steering, and everyone involved would regret not yelling “bless you!” Landing is a god damn bitch and a half, surpassed in volumes of batshit-insane terror-ocity only by the act of taking off. The worst is the swaying. I don’t get carsick, seasick, or even airsick, but fuck does that make my stomach turn. Too much tilt to the left, the wing catches some runway and things will probably explode. Not an awful way to go you say? You’re not cool if you explode on a plane. Cool people WALK AWAY from explosions with their backs turned, sporting on some David Caruso style sunglasses, and flick a cigarette while “Power” by Kanye West plays.
Fuck that’s cool.
The notable exception, of course, is if you stopped Col. Stuart and Gen. Esperanza by blowing up their get away plane and get tossed by the blast. Bruce Willis gets a pass, okay?
And yet, fear isn’t a reason to not do something. In fact, conquering your fear is closer to looking like the above badassery–especially that boss ass Power Ranger™–than it is going to help you get from A to B. Fuck fear, you are literally sitting in your sky throne, presiding over your Greek worshipers. Stop complaining about your middle seat, bring ear plugs if that incoherent animal a few seats behind you can’t find it’s pacifier (and by that, I mean a middle aged white woman who can’t order her favorite Gin on an international flight. Fuck you, woman in seat 23B), take a sleeping pill and dream about the vast distances you’re traveling in mere hours instead of the acute case of manifest destiny, dysentery, and more Oregon than anyone really wants that you would have recieved 200 years ago.
Besides, your odds are 1 in 29.4 million of getting in some kind of accident which is about 29.4 million times less likely than finding a bar in Budapest that is playing Lincoln Park. Seriously, they still like Lincoln Park here.
Cheers Budapest, you are worth my horrendous fear of flying.