CHAPTER 37
How can one manage to overlook the fact that in traveling by air we
are actually hurtling through freezing space at six hundred miles an
hour, with a six mile drop and only tons of highly explosive fuel to
keep us warm? What is it that lulls us into a false sense of security?
Is it the widely publicized statistical hash that tells us we’re more
likely to die while driving a car that while flying in a plane? Everyone
knows that’s only because so many planes end up crashing into
crowded interstates. Look closer, brave cloud-jockey, and behold.
The answer lies inside the cabins themselves.
Notice the fine plastic accoutrements. The rug under your feet is
Orlon
®
fiber. Your tray table is shock-resistant and injection-
molded. The TV-shaped windows through which you watch the
clouds are scratch-resistant polymer. The dinner your lovely
stewardess has just placed in front of you tastes like it was prepared
with only the finest man-made ingredients. Now notice your
stewardess and her bright, synthetic smile. As she pours the
chemically-engineered soft drink into your petroleum-distillate
glass, you can’t help but notice the mathematical precision of her
bustline, also industrially engineered for your enhanced enjoyment.
After she says her lines to you, she offers a repeat performance to the
man sitting next to you. No wonder, you notice, so many failed
actresses get a second chance at acting by becoming airline
stewardesses.
Yes, o wingless bird-man, it is true. You have entered a land of
make believe. Nothing is real, and for good reason: show a man flying
in a commercial jet plane a piece of real wood or a clump of grass,
and he will most likely become extremely queasy. He doesn’t want to
be reminded where he really is—in a pressure chambered death
coffin far away from his home—so he pretends that it is all happening
in plasticland, where everything is replaceable. Including his life.
None of this, incidentally, bothered me one bit. I now knew that
all of us wingless bird-men lived in pressure-chambered death
coffins every moment of our lives, and that all those coffins were
headed for a crash. The point wasn’t to put on a better show or create
better plastic accessories to cover up this fact. The point was to make
the most of the company, the food, and that small window.
BIG AMERICAN BREAKFAST
234
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