Gooch: Taking “Friendly” Out of the Skies Since 1999.
I hate to fly. I curse the day the Wright Brothers took so much meth that they thought it would be cool to build a homemade plane. Many people who read Jam and visit my website are musicians who, upon achieving any success whatsoever, should avoid air travel at all costs. Lynrd Skynrd, Ritchie Valens, John Denver, Stevie Ray Vaughn, and plenty of other musicians were all stripped of their chance to die of a more venerable cause (like a drug overdose) by a plane crash.
So I’ve taken it upon myself to occasionally try to dissuade people from flying commercial airlines (and personal aircraft… Right Payne Stewart? Right JFK Jr.? Right Sonny Bono… oops, wrong column) by writing my opinions on air travel in general. Not that you need me to tell you what can go wrong in midair, you’ve got flight attendants telling you as soon as you board the plane of all of the “unlikely” events that can occur during the flight.
Example: "In the unlikely event of a water landing, your seat cushion can be used as a flotation device." Unlikely? They never give any instructions in the unlikely event of the plane smashing into the side of an office building at 400 mph. What about the unlikely event of a bombing? What about the unlikely event that the passengers are served edible food? There’s so many “unlikely events” that can happen on a plane, yet the flight attendants completely ignore these during their obligatory pre-flight instructions. What about the unlikely event of the plane being overtaken by armed terrorists?
Ladies and Gentlemen: In the unlikely event of a midair hostage situation, please pass your valuables toward the aisles. You’ll then want to access the burlap sack under the seat-flotation device. Completely cover your head with the sack as this will keep you from being able to identify the terrorists and will lessen your anxiety in the unlikely event that you’re shot execution style in the back of the head. Our in-flight movie will be a documentary, “Crash and Burn: The ValuJet Story.” Enjoy your flight.
My disdain for air travel does not reside solely with the airlines and their employees. For example, passengers can aggravate me as well. Here’s an open letter to a little boy who sat behind me on my last flight:
Billy? Was that you’re name? You probably remember me. I was sitting in front of you and was one of the nice people that were trying to find your teddy bear, “Woofie.” Yes, we looked, and we looked, and no one could find your bear. You got off of the plane, crying, like a six-year-old often does when he or she loses a prized toy. Funny thing? Woofie was in my backpack the whole time. That’s right! You see, when I have to get up at 5am, I get grouchy… Like Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street. In adult terms, it’s best not to fuck with me. So when you kicked the back of my seat eight or nine thousand times, I got really grouchy. In adult terms, fucking pissed. During your fourth mid-flight “potty break,” I took woofie from your seat, leaving only the blanket in which you covered him.
Woofie got to ride home with me in my “Goochmobile.” Can you say “Goochmobile?” I knew you could! Can you say “cigarette lighter?“ I knew you could… you seemed like a smart kid. Do you know what a “car cigarette lighter is?” Ask your Mom… ‘cause that’s what I torched your fucking bear with, you little bastard.
Actually, I pretty much take air travel as a time to avoid as much personal contact as possible. Like a porcupine uses its quills, a bee uses its stinger, and a prostitute uses its mace (long story), I use lack of hygiene (hair sans brushing, teeth sans brushing, ass sans brushing) as a natural defense from people. Since I buy the cheap seats on the cheap airlines, I’m usually tired, hungry, and aggravated enough to not want to take the chance with any human contact. Not everyone pisses me off, just the ones that want to “conversate.” The ones who want to assure me that it’s not the heat, that it is in fact, the fucking humidity.
Ultimately, I’ll fly long distances over driving them ever since the price of gas aligned itself with the price per ounce of cocaine served in a solid gold bathtub. “But Gooch,” you interrupt, “isn’t flying safer statistically than driving?” Save that crap for the tourists and the FAA. Statistically that may be true, but how do you really want to die? Plummeting from 20,000 feet for what seems like an eternity, or a sudden unexpected impact into the back of a logging truck, killing you instantaneously?
[columnist's note: Here's where I stopped writing and figured I'd start the editing process in a day or two and then whip out a conclusion. Then my appendix went really bad and I spent a couple of nights in the hospital. I apologize for this horrible ending which was done quickly so I could meet deadline and get back to my vicodin and my bed. I know that it's not even that funny. Writing students please note: never end anything with the phrase "in conclusion" except in a medical emergency. You may now continue with the rest of the column.]
In conclusion, I’d like to say that as the summer travel season approaches, weigh your options, consult your travel agent, talk to friends and family about your travel decisions, and remember that you’re screwed no matter what you do. Thanks, have a great summer.
