Use Seat Bottom Cushion For Floatation.
It’s written so matter-of-fact. A gentle typeface embroidered on a cool blue seat. It’s almost as if you’re not supposed to understand what you’re reading. It’s the kind of thing that if you truly comprehended what it was saying, you’d be taking the train.
If you happen to be in the position where you're contemplating using your seat bottom cushion to float, chances are that you’re almost about to…well… stop being alive.
Airplanes are designed to fool you. The whole environment is specifically designed to keep you calm during a spectacular series of challenges of the laws of nature. You are flying on a speeding bullet eight miles above the earth rocketing towards a different time and space.
From the second that you board, the gentle “Hello sir, how are you?” from a pretty woman in a nice uniform with a nice smile masks the true answer of “I’m terrified because you’re about to transport me into the ionosphere on a mechanical bird, you crazy bitch”.
The beverage service. The truly informative “how to use your seatbelt” demonstration. The clean organized rows of seats. The reassurances of the captain that we’re “over Charlotte, North Carolina”. The pillows and blankets. The smiling. The portal sized oval windows. The lack of a glass floor.
Babies get it. They understand because they are oblivious to the messaging. The second the plane powers up for takeoff, they start screaming. Nothing is more alarming to their months-old minds than the idea of being pressurized and shot into the sky.
Theme parks get it. They put signs saying “Scream!” on the top of rollercoasters. They cover them in strobe lights and laser beams. The whole environment encourages you to get high and make out with girls in the washroom.
Meanwhile, the most amazing experience that you may ever be a part of is watered down into a puddle that you might have to use your seat cushion to float on.
2 comments:
Mr. Berkal - you're back.
Your writing is back on top. It's witty, it's frequent.
I sit alone at my desk, waiting for the man I call love to pick me up.
There's trouble brewing here in Reginaland. Something not right. It's in the air.
I have a sudden urge to move far, far away from everything I even recognize. Somewhere I've never heard of. Somewhere exotic, where learning the new language will occupy my mind. Somewhere I can breathe. Somewhere I can run. Somewhere I can love.
When asked "Where are you?" Dave responds with "Having a drink. Will be a bit". A reasonable answer. When asked "How long?" Dave responds with "a bit". Not a reasonable answer.
It's been like this for days. Zero communication. Zero passion. Zero zero.
I scream "Get me out of here!" on a regular basis. In my head of course.
Living and loving in Reginaland is just not what it used to be.
And no more facebook. I was addicted. At work. which did not agree with my manager...
Dan. How are you?
amandamazing.
how do i get in touch with you?
db
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