earning my wings

A new counter is running on the site. It says countdown to Tampa but it might as well read countdown to complete nervous breakdown or countdown to massive involuntary bowel movement episode. A group of regulars, including myself, are going on our annual get-outta-Dodge golf trip. And we are flying. In a plane.

I am not a big fan of flying.

My wife is growing tired of my daily questions:
Sue? Am I going to be alright? Yes Joe, you'll be fine.
Sue? You don't mind flying, right? No Joe. I don't mind flying. You'll be fine.
Sue? The maintenance guys are going to tighten all the nuts and bolts, right? Yes Joe, they are the best mechanical guys around. They don't let those birds off the ground unless those bolts are torqued to specification. You'll be fine.

I hate when people say air travel is much safer than getting in your car. Phooey. In my book, if the unspeakable happens in a car, it is much better than the realization of your impending doom while nosediving for 3 minutes from 30,000 feet. Excuse me? Do you have any paper? I need to chicken scratch a message to my family.

I've flown before or maybe I didn't; I'll explain later. I'll admit, when we are cruising on the runway and the engines are thrown to full power for lift-off, it's a thrilling and powerful experience. But what I hate the most is the initial almost vertical climb to altitude. You see, in my head, flying completely disregards logic. How can a 500 ton piece of metal even get off the ground? And then sustain flight? It's magic, I'm tellin' ya. Smoke and mirrors. That's not jet-lag you feel after a flight, thats the feeling of all your body's cells getting glued back together after getting warped Star Trek style from one place to another. And I don't want to hear about your Mile High Club experience. That was simply a wet-dream warp proven by the best conspiracy theorists the world has to offer. Also, please don't try to explain the physics behind this magic. Lift, drag and rotation is helicopters. I'm no dummy. Thrust? Suuuure. I also find it offensive when a plane goes down and all the expert investigators are scratching their heads as to why. I know why. It's because flying is illogical. If mankind was meant to fly we would've been born with yada yada yada.

Driving to Tampa would be a 20-22 hour trip. Flying is about two. That's a big time difference. When I committed to flying with our golf group, I didn't give it much thought. Now I think about it everyday. Before my flight I think I'll indulge in a little self-medication at the airport lounge. Or maybe I'll have my brother Mark shoot me with a rhinoceros tranquilizer gun in the parking lot. Or maybe I shouldn't do any of these things. I need to retain my status as the cool old guy within my circle of golf trip buddies. I have to keep it together on that illogically large airborne cylindrical tube of uncertainty because I don't want to be the butt of jokes for years to come. I'm just wondering but do you think they'll notice if I'm wearing a Depends?

Uh Sue? Why don't they make planes with tops that pop open and seats that eject with parachutes in cases of extreme emergency? For the love of God Joe! Grow a sack and get on the damn plane!

Ok Sue. You got it. I'll do my best because I'm a big boy and I wear big boy pants. But if anyone reading this sees me at the grocery store on May 5th buying adult diapers, keep me in your thoughts and keep the diaper thing to yourself. On a wing and a prayer, I'll return. Hopefully.