Itty bitty wings

When I was asked to participate in the USMC 2010 Educators' Workshop, I have to admit I felt slightly honored. OK, I'll admit, felt like a really cool academic. Sure, as I mentioned last year, I'm well aware this entire workshop is probably going to be a textbook case of white propaganda for the marine corps, but still, being asked to do anything just makes me feel all fuzzy on the inside (and yes, that includes things that I really shouldn't do, like edit the commencement program, write a student handbook, and help someone with their subtitles). Let's just say I really need to work on a) setting boundaries, and b) disconnecting my self-worth from my actions. But none of that is relevant in this case. The workshop entails no work for me, and in fact includes an all-expenses paid week in DC. So I've been feeling pretty hot there for a while. How many people get to fly to DC on someone else's dime to watch men in uniform all week? I mean, really?

Well, you'll all be thrilled to know my bubble burst quite violently about twenty minutes ago when I received my travel confirmation. Convinced as I was that they would have me fly out of Atlanta, I was appalled to see that instead I'll be flying out of the rinky dink local airport. Now I have nothing against local airports. They're great incentives for the local economy, I'm sure. My problem is with the teeny tiny airplanes that fly out of those little bitty airports. We're not talking outdated DC10s here, or those smaller versions of the 767 that they'll fly between Dusseldorf and Amsterdam. No, people, we're talking the kinds of planes dropzones use for their skydivers. Planes that hold maybe ten people at best, and where the cockpit is separated from the rest of the plane by a curtain. If you're lucky. Planes where they have to put your carry-ons in the cargo hold because there are no overhead bins. Planes where you don't have to worry about whom you'll be sitting next to, as these planes have one row of seats on either side of the aisle. Planes, people, that go down on such a regular basis, the news barely mentions these accidents.

I'm usually not afraid of flying. As I've mentioned before, husband-dear and I used to both skydive (out of those same little planes), so it's not as though I don't have a nice set of cojones when it comes to flying. But, dear Lord, these planes are small.  And accident-prone. I used to fly on them on a fairly regular basis when I lived up in New England, and without a parachute on my back, they just freak me out.

First, it's the whole turbulence thing. If you think turbulence is a large aircraft is bad, well, think again.There's bouncing, jostling, and pummeling. There's panels rattling so bad, you start worrying whether the plane will hold up or not. There's deathly silence as everyone wonders whether now would be a good time to start calling their loved ones and telling them goodbye. And while you're trying to keep yourself from repeatedly banging into the seat in front of you and soiling yourself in fear at the same time, you can see the pilots leaning back, positively unconcerned that behind them all ten passengers are trying to keep themselves from getting concussions. And worst of all, because these excuses of airplanes are so small, they don't make it up much higher than 15000 feet, which means that you can be guaranteed that if there's a storm in the area, you will be flying right through it.

Then, whenever I've flown on one of these little coffeemakers, the pilots seem to lose all abandon whenever they climb into the cockpit. They take off as though they just realized they left their stove on, bank like they're trying to make it into the Thunderbirds, and the landing is hard enough to make anyone's dentures come out. Perhaps it's the fact that these planes don't cost a whole lot more than my car, or the fact that the airline has so many of them, I don't know, but the pilots just don't seem to care about their passenger's comfort a whole lot. I mean, I've been on jump runs where the pilot had to dump thirty skydivers in about five minutes (quite a feat, let me tell you), and those runs were more comfortable than some of those trips up into Maine.

Finally, there's the lack of all the little amenities such as flight attendants (these planes usually only have one, and that is just to comply with FAA security regulations), food (not gonna happen), drinks (would happen if it weren't for the neverending turbulence), pilot's announcements (there's just nothing to see when you're flying through clouds), and the SkyMall magazine. Somehow all those little things on other planes make me feel as though flying is really just secondary, you know, like, oh yeah, and while you're consuming that meal and watching your favorite movie, we'll also fly you across the country, but don't you worry your pretty little head about that. None of that in these little planes. They're all about business. Which always has me wonder if flying them is so difficult/dangerous that there's no time for other diversions, that is, the pilots would love to tell you all about the cornfield you're flying over, but they're busy trying to keep you in the air. 

So, yeah, the fuzzy, warm, "they like me! They really like me!" feeling is gone. Instead I think I'm going to keep an eye out on small-plane-accident statistics in the next few months. And make sure I tell everyone I love them.