Today I will be traveling via jet airplane from the large and famous American city where I live to a different city in another place.
Lately, whenever I fly, at some point I become convinced that the plane is crashing. The last time I flew, the plane descended rapidly from 35,000 feet to 8,000 feet while we were still an hour away from our destination city, which I've forgotten. I knew death was imminent, and if "Sully" Sullenberger has taught us anything, it's that, in a crash-type situation, there isn't an announcement until right before you die ("Brace for impact," he announced, a few seconds before he landed in a river). As it turned out, I didn't die; the captain was presumably just crazy and/or high.
Whenever I become convinced that the plane is crashing, I look to the flight attendants, and if they appear calm, I conclude that perhaps I am wrong, and perhaps we are not falling from the sky. Once, over the Pacific, our plane flew through a bad storm. We were tossed about, and water started dripping from the ceiling. The captain instructed the flight attendants to take their seats, and I noticed that one flight attendant had a look of pure terror on his face. That worried me.
Unexpectedly, I lived, and so did the flight attendant. They say you are more likely to die while horsing around with a loaded gun than while traveling by plane. While, intellectually, I understand that, I love horseplay too much to stop.