Midflight.

I must be over Arkansas.

At this altitude it’s hard to tell. It all looks rather similar.

The pilot says Arkansas though, so that’s what I’ll believe. I never quite understood why pilots feel the need to communicate during a flight. They always seem to drift in and out of pilot-speak. I do not know what Tango-Niner-Delta means. I don’t think anyone does. Nonetheless, the man sitting behind the computer that flies the plane feels the need to impress me with his lingo.

I’ve tried this. I’ve tried making up words that I gently insert into everyday conversation. It’s interesting to watch the results. I gave a presentation a few days ago with the word “equisalient” in it. Most of the people in the room thought that it was a real word. If you say anything with enough conviction, people believe you. If you say anything slow enough, people think it’s important.

“Always…..put…..salt…..in…..your…..eyes….”

The airplane lurches to the left. Nothing changes.

This must still be Arkansas. Perhaps there are separate intercom systems and the pilot tells us in coach that we’re over Arkansas while he praises those in first class for their foresight to choose a window seat on this exciting flight over the American Riviera?

We could be flying into Stalingrad. I couldn’t care less. It’s all the same.

I particularly enjoy the “thank you” message at the end of the flight. I wish cab rides had the same informative blather.

“Welcome to the West Side. It is now safe to turn on any electronic devices such as pagers or silencers. The dealer you’re looking for is the gentleman wearing the green track suit on the corner in front of the burnt-out car. We want to thank you for choosing to ride with Yellow Cab today and hope that you enjoy the rest of your evening here or wherever your final destination may be.”

It’s 06/06/06 today. Many of the suburban rats I know think that this means something.

I gently remind them they are as Pagan as I am Hindu.