Airing the Imagination
June 7th, 2009
I am not a Frequent Flyer. I am a not infrequent flyer, however, and as I write I am on the third of eight plane journeys scheduled for the year ahead. I know the Frequent Flyer scheme, a loyalty program that awards points for air miles, works for some people. I dislike customer loyalty programs.I purchase what I need, when I need and if I made all my travel arrangements with a loyalty program in mind I would be more likely to end up with a deficit of points and an electric wok rather than a free flight.
Due to a bout of vagueness, I was running late for this flight. I tore into the check in, panting and gasped out, ‘Am I too late?’ The girl said no, that the flight was delayed. A wave of pointless irritation washed over me and I said, (calmly, I must add), ‘You know, every flight I have taken with your airline in the last six months has been late.’ She gave me her best smile and chirruped, ‘It’s not our fault, it’s because the air traffic controllers are on strike – they’re on a skeleton staff.’
I made my way through security clutching this nugget of intelligence. This, only days after the terrible loss of an Air France jet over the Atlantic. For me, flying is an act of belief. I don’t want to know the physics or engineering principles that keep us in the air – because although I do not doubt their effectiveness, it’s not an explanation suited to my temperament. I simply try not to think about where I am and get on with whatever distraction I have with me and hope for the best.
However, this morning I could not indulge in my usual denial. As the aircraft taxied out onto the tarmac I peered out the window to see three other planes, all parallel to each other, lining up for their turn on the runway. The four planes sat, engines idling – what were they doing? Playing a game of chicken? With no one telling them what to do, was it a matter of whoever makes the first move? Another plane landed on the main runway in front of us. And then we rolled forward. I kept a stern eye on the other three jets, daring them to make a move, sensing my pilot might need my extra pair of eyes.
The girl who smiled as she informed me of this deficit of key personnel is a credit to her employer. Such unnerving information delivered with such an endearing smile. To me it underlined the importance of the quality of human interaction in determining how you recall or react to a situation. If she had snarled at me, or showed complete boredom I would not have felt so sanguine about the whole business. Indeed, if she had come striding down the aisle while inflight, giving us her best smile, while telling us to abandon all hope because we were going down, it would somehow make it less horrifying.
As a writer one has to air the imagination – take it out for a quick trot around the block. Sometimes I have trouble pulling mine back inside. Some years ago a large jet crashed in a forest in Japan. The newspaper I was reading at the time reported that one passenger had the presence of mind to write a short farewell to his wife and children – the note was found in his pocket. I found this to be very moving and hard to forget. On one flight I took in the recent past the aircraft hit a patch of turbulence – the worst I have ever experienced. As it continued, passengers stopped what they were doing. My imagination burst forth and declared I was going to die fairly soon in a downwardly spiralling burning fuselage and if I wanted to leave a note to anyone I better get cracking.
I wanted to leave two notes, one for my parents and one for my partner. But where would I put them? I didn’t have pockets that day. I could secrete them in my bra. Of course! But which note would go in the right cup and which in the left? The left is over the heart, so would the person who got the right cup be offended? As I agonised over this symbolism we cleared the turbulence. Everybody slumped in relief and the drinks trolley did a brisk trade. I knew I’d have to have the left/right issue sorted for the next flight or make sure I wore something with pockets.
I am far more likely to die in a car crash than in an aviation disaster. Tell that to my imagination though. At least in a car I have a certain amount of control over the variables. In an aircraft I have to give up control to the faceless man in the captain’s hat who could have been up all night waiting for a teenager to come home from a party, and the air traffic controller who could be exhausted from three back-to-back shifts and spinning out on amphetamines.
One Christmas Day I flew from the north-west US to Mexico with an American regional airline who had recently lost a fully laden aircraft into the ocean just off Los Angeles. As the aircraft began it’s ascent the crew casually announced Mr Spock and Captain Kirk were at the controls – a joke they seemed to find incredibly funny. We were all handed small wicker baskets with red gingham lining and a plastic wrapped sandwich nestled within. Upon lifting the sandwich out, one discovered a small piece of paper with a prayer printed on it. How thoughtful. I was reminded of Laurie Anderson’s ‘O Superman.’
When flying one simply has to pack the imagination in the suitcase being checked through. Taking it into the cabin, for me, is asking for trouble. I prefer to practice denial – I like to think I am luxuriating in free time to read or speculating on those around me – how are they dealing with the mystery of flight?
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Categories: on writing | Tags: imagination, writing
5 Comments
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Personally, I get off on the G-force as it takes off!
I’m trying to track this story down, apparently there was a woman found dead after the earthquake in China recently, who had wrapped herself around her baby girl, who was protected and so found alive. On her phone rescuers apparently found the note, ‘Little girl, if you live, know that I loved you.’
I love this, phi
I just don’t think they service planes enough anymore. It’s all, ‘She’ll be right, mate. She’s a tough girl. No, don’t worry about that missing screw. We’ll check her out again next time she lands here.’
At some point, I had collected 650,000 air miles on the OneWorld alliance. No wonder the strain began to show.
Great story too - although I really don’t see the next of kin bickering about which cup the note was in…