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"Fear Of Flying"

I'm not really afraid of flying. 
It's crashing that I object to... 
descending to an altitude below that of the ground. 

Our buddy Mike Miller called last night 
and suggested that we fly to Nashville 
to produce some sessions for him. 

I said I'd rather drive. 
He said he would pay the air fare. 
I still preferred driving. 

It's not that Misty and I haven't flown a lot. 
We probably took a couple of hundred flights a year in the seventies. 
We drank then. 
We never flew completely sober. 

Flying was more fun in those days. 
You got larger, more comfortable seats,
drinks and food...even the dreaded peanut. 
Sometimes a movie was shown on longer hops. 

I think all the Macadamia nuts 
have gone back to Macadamia. 

We usually flew first class, 
whether we could afford it or not. 
If we're going to be scared to death, 
we might as well pretend to be rich. 

Today the planes are like Greyhound buses with wings. 
Passengers are stacked on each other's laps, 
and are beaten and abused by the sadistic airline staff. 
Open range chickens wander freely in the aisles, 
and babies are provided to throw up on you. 

And those airport searches! 
They search elderly ladies and boy scouts, 
while the terrorists waltz through 
laughing and waving their bombs. 

I'm under suspicion anyway 
because of my dark hair, beard, and shifty eyes. 

I told Mike on the phone: 
"I can't handle those airport searches!" 
Misty, who was listening to the conversation, said this: 
"They'll search every one of your nooks and crannies." 

I don't care about my crannies, 
but, nobody touches my nook! 

Copyright  March 21, 2006, Jack Blanchard. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission. 


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