I hate flying. Not just plain ol’ hate when you want the object of your disdain not existing, I repel flying. I hate it in the burn in hell kind of hate. O, shit! Why did I use the burn in hell comparison?! Why did I use a word burn when talking about flying?! That’s it, some Gods of flying or planes are surely going to burn my plane now! But first, they’ll have to push me into one.

I love it when people try to talk me into senses when it comes to being afraid of flying. The way they reason with me sooooo makes sense, just like the 73645422626 pounds of iron being in the air. My favorite one is when they tell me you’re more likely to get hurt or die crossing the street. Them being the street crossing experts and all. I never understood why they’re telling me that. Is that suppose to make me feel better? Cuz it ain’t. It only makes me more afraid of crossing the street.

Most of the year I’m safe. Most of the year I successfully manipulate all those around me into not trying to put me on a plane; “but it’s so cold there”, “why would I come, it’s soooo boring there”, “have to work so much, don’t have the time….”. But summer time is screwing with me royaly. It’s the time of the year when all the excuses not to fly – fly out of the window. What is one to offer when trying to refuse getting on a plane in summer time? “No, I really don’t like vacations”. Ummm, no. And these motherfuckers are pro’s let me tell you. The way they’re trying to lure me in to fly somewhere is epic. All the decadence they’re offering, it’s difficult to resist, I tell you.

Hey, I get it, nobody really really likes flying, well, with the exception of small amount of freaks who pretend to enjoy everything that would put normal people in a frenzy, just so they can appear particular. “You don’t like turbulence, Miranda?”, “Why?!”,”I just love it, going up and down, left and right, shaking, it’s like I’m on roller-coaster, it’s soooo much fun!” Um, ok now. Down boy.

It’s not just flying I hate, it’s the plane itself. There’s just something so pointy, so poking, so vile about the plane and it’s ugly face. When I walk towards it to get in, he looks at me with this secret smart ass plane smugness, uhhhh. It’s like it’s saying – “Go in love, just step in. And I’ll decide if I’ll let you out”. Fucking smart ass.

Flying the plane represents everything I repel in life, even before I step foot in it. Closed space. Heights. Proximity with people. Smells. No phone. No internet. Small amounts of food. Small amounts of peeing. 6 inch space for my 45 inch legs. Just one bread roll per person. Sorry, but the bread part is a deal breaker. How dare they?!

I get nervous 3 weeks prior flying. I run around trying to figure out how to beat my fear this particular time. I call people asking them if they heard about any new drug, pill, anything that would work with my fright, I send them texts with following content – “Do you know how to get Zanax without prescription until tuesday? No. How ‘bout Valium? Opium? Anything? Not to call you anymore, ever?”

Sometimes I forget to explain why do I need it for.

Why that drastic with my fear of flying, you ask?I don’t know, maybe something to do with my first flight ever. Age 11, route: Split, Croatia – Belgrade, Serbia. Flight attendant calm. Noise: bruhmnnhdhhhh!!! Flight attendant nervous. Pilot on speaker: “Dear ladies and gents, our engine just died. But not to worry. We have the reserve one to fly with.” Flight attendant looking like the kid from ‘Sixth Sense’. My Mother looking like the newborn vampire. The rest I refuse to relive. It’s imprinted deep down in my 11 year old fucked up consciousness.

I made it on the ground. But my mind never actually made it back. Having been born in Europe and living in America; I fly Atlantic two times a year. I fly America couple of times a year. Did the quantity of flying made it better? I go into the plane with nervous break down; I fly the plane on the verge of a cardiac arrest; I get off the plane in a coma. Yeah, maybe a dash better.

Waiting to take off is the worst. When I see all the happy campers around me laughing and fooling around, I’m bursting with jealousy i could kill ’em. I do not move, I do not blink, I take my Xanax…..it’s still not working, I take Valium….nothing still, I ask the Flight Attendant to bring me some vine before we take off, I mix it all together and wait for everything to kick in…..still nothing, my nervousness is canceling out the calming process. Then my calming process gets seriously fucked up when the Flight Attendant comes to see if our belts are tied and to put our seat in upright position. See that bugs me, right there. Upright position rule. Let me lean back, woman, that one inch separates my torment from my trance!

Still nothing. Hyperventilating. That little bitch that gave me those pills, who knows what those were. It could of been Aspirin, for all I know. Read a magazine, listen to i-pod, read a magazine, listen to i-pod…..o shit, fuck! I see a turban in row 24. What does that mean, is that some nice fellow going to see his wife or a anguish filled soul? O, now that I think about it, everybody can be an anguish filled soul who wants to blow this plane up! Hell even this friend of mine flying with me. How long do I know him? 7 years? Fuck it, that’s nothing! What does he have in his bag? Did I see him pack?! What do I really now about him?! Well, he is kinda loner! I’ll keep my eye on him…

O fuck, we’re in the air already!

Fifteen minutes, wait for fifteen minutes, if nothing goes wrong within fifteen minutes, the plane is aight! How long has it been? What’s that noise?! That’s it, we’re going down! Look at that bitch next to me playing with that air thing above us! Do not touch anything, stupid, who knows what’s taking power away form the engine! Stop it! Give me another bottle of vine! Fuck the vine, make it vodka!

Brummnnsnshddg!!! That’s it, we’re going down! O, it’s just the food cart growling down the aisle. Phiuuu. You ever noticed how these plane people always get that cart out when there’s the worst turbulence?! The plane is going up and down, left and right – but these little bitches are adamant to serve us a glass of plastic water while they can barely walk down, when there’s liquor flying out of the bottles, cups flying out of our hands, I mean really? Do you honestly think I’m thinking how to hydrate my body while I’m imagining my body parts in the middle of the Ocean?! I want to scream at them, the Stewardesses, but they are the ones holding the bread rolls, and I want that second bread roll. They have the power.

O, the food is coming, great. That’ll take my mind of imagining sharks swallowing my body parts for couple of minutes. Wonder how we all get hyped up about that tiny, shitty plane meal, the one that we wouldn’t serve our dog on the ground? Everything is so unreal in the air. Specially the meat with the grill marks on it, like we’re suppose to believe there’s a big ass flamin’ grill in the back of the plane. More like couple of sharpies they used to draw them on each side. Give me that second bread roll bitch, and I might not provoke the revolution about home made sharpie grill marks!

Time to go to the bathroom. I dread this action. I don’t want to get up and walk around, what if some anguish filled soul uses me as bargaining hostage?! I’ll hold it in. How many hours it was? Six already? Fuck, I need to go. I’ll be really quick! Nobody’s waiting, just in and out, bam, back on my seat, tied up! Do you ever look up to the bathroom and see no one there, you get up, and all of a sudden 10 people get up in the same time as you and form a line stretching to half the aisle?! Fucking shit, I disheveled two nice people with my 6 ft body while getting up, now I have to wait. Plane bathrooms are the worst. Small. Smelly. Scary. How can people have sex in there?! I can barely sit. O, and that sign blinking you should return to your seat? Jezzz, what’d you think I’ll do, relax in that beauty for couple of hours?!

And give me that chips, damn it, I’m having a meltdown!

Stewardesses don’t like me either. I ask for liquor before we even take off, I ask about the second bread roll, I wait to see what the other meal option looks like – and if I like it better I always switch, I ask for chips and mixed nuts both, and I pull their skirt almost every time they pass by with a question – “Is this turbulence normal?”…

Don’t get prissy with me bitch, I didn’t get online for 6 hours already! I’m running low.

O my God! That was strong! O my God! The turbulence is so strong, I’m in panic mode! I pull the first skirt passing by – “Miss, is this normal?!”

The answer. German accent, broken english – “O, you want to know about turbulence, Miss. Yes, we will have strong turbulence above Las Vegas, but don’t worry, I’ll tell you when it will be!”

The zombie, previously known as Miranda – “Uhmmm, actually I was asking you about THIS turbulence right now. Are you telling me there’s a bigger turbulence coming?!”

The answer – “Oooo, this is nothing Miss, if you see us standing up, you can be sure it’s nothing dangerous” – says the bitch in a skirt while bouncing off aisle to aisle, roof to floor.

“Do you need another drink, Miss?”

“I know what you need, you need a cookie, you’ll feel so much better! Let me bring it for you!”

Yes, you are so right. You know me so well. The Stewardess and a psychic, all in one. While imagining my biker boots I spend 3 years of looking for, as well as my body I spend 30 years looking after – being butchered by sharks in the bottom of the Ocean, the cookie is what I need to make it all better.

Why didn’t I think of that?

“Maybe you could just close your eyes and relax a bit?”

Yeah, like I’m going to take the advices from people who voluntarily go through this torment, for a living…

Um, no.

I’ll be tripping the rest of the flight, thank you very much. Now go get me that bottle of whiskey.

Bitch.


Miranda Vidak
Miranda Vidak

Founder & Designer of Moodytwin Inc. Disrupting the conversation about culture, identity, relationships & social issues.

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