Tomato Juice, A Girl, & An Airplane

If you read this blog you know that I hate flying.  If you don't read this blog, you should.   Meh. The fear began when I was younger, early adolescence I think.  My grandma began taking my cousin and I on annual trips.  I remember being so deathly afraid that my cousins hands still probably have scars on them from where I dug my nails in.  My fear escalated and created ocd like airplane rituals.  To this day I do the same exact things every single time I get on a plane:

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Prepping for the flight in fear

1.  As I step onto the plane, I kiss my hand and touch the metal outside of the airplane.  I then make the sign of the cross.  A bit odd for a grown woman who has a severe issue with faith and religion, but you must remember this started at a young age.  My first memories of my flying fear began while I was in grade school, Catholic grade school.  With Nuns.

2. When I enter the plane, I greet the flight attendant and look towards the cockpit.  I then ask for the pilot's name and when he/she (it's never been a she mind you) hears their name spoken, they turn around.  I then use my super detective skillz to see if they are:

  • high on meth
  • cracked out on ativan
  • drunk
  • or a hot mess

3. After reassuring myself  that the pilot (s) can actually fly the plan if need be, I head to my seat.  My WINDOW seat.  I must always have a window seat.  A bit crazy coming from someone who doesn't like to fly, eh?  I have my reasons, I'll get to them soon.

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4. Told you I'd get to them soon.  My reason for needing a window seat is this: I like to watch the wings during takeoff and landing.  I think this stems from my obsession with The Twilight Zone movie.  I saw it when I was way young and I will never ever forgot this scene. It haunts me on every trip I take.

5.  After takeoff I wait for the 2 bells.  Once I hear the bells I know that we are least until we land.  Now I have know idea what these two bells actually signify but I like to believe the aforementioned.

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Biggie Smalls Takes After The Widow

6.  When the beverage cart comes around I order a libation of tomato base.  Blood Mary or juice. Depends on my mood or on whatever anti anxiety pill I am taking at that moment.  Some mix well, some don't (never used a puke bag, never want to).  I don't get the tomato juice thing.  Recently I have noticed that the majority of people flying do the same.  Do we think the smooth salty taste of the fruit vegetable will calm our nerves if we go down in a fire ball of flames?  Others have also wondered the same and no one seems to know why everybody goes for the tomato when their feet leave the ground.

7.  And last but not least, I rate the landing.  To the pilots.  I am THAT guy.  As I walk out I say a number 1 being the best and 10 being a worst.  They can't hear but it makes me feel better just to know that there is a small chance they actually know why the crazy blonde with wild scared eyes says three.  Don't judge me.   I have had many 5's, a few 1's, & one 10.  Our pilot decided not to land the plane about 2 seconds before we hit the ground.  We went up, up, up, and over Lake Erie in about 12 seconds and I seriously thought we were going to die.  So did the Chef (although he would never admit, he 'loves' turbulance. Ha.)

As you can see I am a crazy mutha fucka when it comes to the airplane.  Don't judge. And if you happened to be sitting next to me on my next flight I promise I you won't even notice my insanity. Unless of course they are out of tomato juice.

And if anyone knows the real reason for the mass tomato consumption in the air I would love to know!  xoxo

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