Wednesday, February 1, 2012


Air France, Detroit to Paris
chicken and rice pilaf, roll and butter and monterey jack cheese, roasted chicken with mushrooms and haricots verts and yellow rice, chocolate pudding and cheesecake

Given that all you're doing for eight hours is staying buckled in and dozing in and out of sleep, sometimes these long haul meals can seem excessive. But whatever, you put it in front of me, and i will eat it. 
I've never flown under duress before. I've never had to flee from a disaster, or escape a political situation, or be lifted away from something beyond control. I flew home for my grandfather's funeral last summer, but he was 94, and even with that I felt inclined to tell the staff checking me in and the flight attendants welcoming me on board and the poor soul seated next to me on the flight and the people waving me through at customs that I, sniffle, was in mourning. 
If the occasion ever happens, however, that I have to catch the next flight out of a place because my life is in danger, I think the attempts at normalcy on a flight would be reassuring. Once you've hit cruising altitude, you're impervious to whatever you're running away from. A three course dinner will be served, a light comedy will be shown, the cabin lights will be dimmed to simulate nighttime. You're safe now, at least until the descent begins. 

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