I Will Never Fly Again

Do you see this beautiful little island of Jamaica, with it’s beautiful white sand beaches and it’s beautiful rolling hills? This place where 95% of the time I don’t understand what people are saying to me because I speak English and they make it up as they go along, therefore I imagine I’m in my own private, destination holiday in some exotic, unknown land?

Yes, this place!

I’m never leaving this blessed little island again! I don’t care how many disgusting deportees spit on me because I tell them that walking out on their bill is STEALING, or how many un-washed pieces of human feces try to drag me over the bar counter by the shoulder every Monday night because they want a cup of ice, or how many window washers bang on my windshield and fantasize aloud about how many ways they will rape and kill me if they ever see me walking on the street. It doesn’t change a thing.

Here is where I will stay, forever more, because I absolutely refuse to ever get on a plane again.

Thank you American Airlines, for showing me the joy of staying in one place, forever, no matter how ’emotionally draining’ and ‘potentially deadly’ it may seem. I’ll take my chances with the window washers over one of your poor-judgement flights, any day.

“Amanda,” you may coo in a voice reserved only for small children and pets, “you’re overreacting. You’ve flown on countless flights, all around the world. Why let one bumpy ride render you prisoner to one final destination?”

Well, this is why.

Yesterday, Matt and I were connecting in Miami airport, when a sudden monsoon began to brew outside. Anyone on the ground could see that the winds were wild and clearly, all flights should be grounded until further notice. Anyone except American Airlines, who have their own bankruptcy troubles, that is. I said to Matthew: we cannot fly in this weather. Matthew said to me: Don’t worry, they won’t take off if it’s dangerous.

So there I went, into the plane that was being pelted with rain the size of manna from heaven, except for me, it was more like manna from hell. The rain slowed….then sped….slowed….then sped. I watched as our suitcases sat in the foul weather, imagined the flower girl dresses I’d bought getting ruined. Imagined Matthew’s suit, getting ruined. Still, no word from the pilot on our being grounded.

Suddenly, the flight attendant closed the door and we began to roll backwards, as if it was business as usual. A mentally handicapped woman began to shriek hysterically, “It’s raining, look, look, it’s raining!” at the top of her lungs, as we all stared at her toothless mouth, ebb and flow, in panic. Still, we rolled towards the runway, as if on auto-pilot.

Matthew said: “Look, the rain is getting a little lighter,” as a gust of wind made contact with our side of the plane. The sky that lay before us was black. Then a sound like a bell. It was the safety video talking about life jackets and exit signs. The plane began to roll forward, picking up speed.

“Life jackets under your seat may be used as a flotation device in the event of an emergency…”

Matthew made himself comfortable, hunkering down in the spacious, first class seat, as if we weren’t about to be ejected to our death, while I prayed to die before my body hit the ocean and sharks, feverishly, ripped me apart, limb by limb.

“Thank you for flying American Airlines…”

The aircraft began to accelerate, until we inevitably lifted off.

Immediately, there were problems, as the aircraft fought it’s way through the many conflicting winds. We dropped and recovered, numerous times, while I squeezed all the blood out of Matthew’s palm with my sweaty little hands. Small shrieks could be heard about the cabin, as we hopscotched from mild visibility to no visibility. Softly, I began to hum, something I do out of habit, when nervous.

I waited for the pilot to say something, but nothing was said. I imagined him asleep in the cockpit, or getting a blow job from the stewardess, because according to various news sources, this is what a pilot’s life is like these days. I wanted to run up the aisle and tear the cockpit door open, exposing him to the wrath of all the worried passengers, but the ever present threat of an air marshall, kept me in my seat (no matter how my seat attempted to expel me).

Finally, a voice over the intercom…except it wasn’t the pilot speaking.

“Remain in your seats,” shrieked a panic-stricken flight attendant, “we are going through SERIOUSLY UNSTABLE AIR! Everyone remain seated! Remain seated!!!”

The aircraft lurched forward, then backward, then up and down, like a maracas searching for a beat.

I turned to Matthew, who was attempting to slip his now injured hand from my grasp.

“Let go of my hand and I will NEVER marry you!” I screamed. “You did this to me! I told you it wasn’t safe to fly!” I yelled at him over sounds of gospel singing in the background. This really seemed like the end.

“Calm down,” Matthew insisted, unbothered by our lunatic flight attendant and seemingly death-riddled aircraft. “Everything will be fine, you just need to relax.”

Well obviously, we didn’t die. I am here composing this blog, everything did work out fine, but that is not the point.

The point is, never again will I step into an aircraft that is not flown by an Air Jamaica pilot.

Yes, Jamaica has it’s fair share of societal problems, but it’s also a country of bests and worsts. Jamaicans have a tendency of being extreme–we are extremely good or extremely bad. We boast some of the best sprinters, poets, painters, musicians, scientists, doctors and many other bests in the world. We have the worst criminals, thieves, gun men, in the world.

Whatever we do, we excel far above the rest, and that is the case of Air Jamaica pilots. They are simply the best in the world. However, since Air Jamaica no longer exists, and I REFUSE to fly on the Trinidadian equivalent, Caribbean Airways, that mistreats Jamaican pilots and flight staff, because they are Trinidadian and the true embodiment of all that is jealous, malicious and wrong, I am left to never leave the island again.

You see, I have no other choice.

And don’t suggest I sail anywhere, because as you know, I am deathly afraid of the ocean. Spend some time watching ‘Shark Week’ and “Salt Water Crocks” and tell me you’re not afraid of the ocean. Half of my fear of a plane crash is being rendered helpless in the middle of the ocean, for crying out loud!

Now if you’ll excuse me, this blog has been rather harrying to compose. I have to pop a pill and lay down in a dark room for the next three hours, with a cold compress on my head. I’d ask Matthew to get it for me, but his hand and neck are still recovering from our flight.



6 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by Stephanie on May 26, 2012 at 4:21 am

    LOL @ Shark Week…….


  2. Posted by Brett phang sang on July 30, 2012 at 7:15 pm

    Amazing. I can’t believe I’ve been missing these


  3. Posted by Michaelia on August 5, 2012 at 7:25 pm

    Manda in case of a coup I suggest JetBlue as an alternative evacuation plan.


  4. Posted by Kenrick Turner on August 22, 2012 at 1:26 am

    Amanda I feel for you and your fobia, I had a fear of flying , and also sailing on the open ocean, but I got over it, in order to get over it, you will have to do it. this time on jet blue!!
    If it will make you feel better, I was in jamaica twice this year, I will be back in october, then upon returning back to the states, later on in october, I have a cruise ship to catch in miami for a 8 day cruise. you have to take risk, it helps to build courage.


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