I really detest those who can sleep whilst traveling, those whose
metabolisms crawl so leisurely that they can sleep upright, against a train handrest, on the shifty head supports of commuter buses.
I hate those who sleep through turbulence the most.
Part of the uniquely terrifying circumstance of plane turbulence is
observing the terror with a slice of humanity, one looks around and
shares a moment with fellow humans for, potentially, the last time. This might be the last time I see elasticated pants, Christmas sweaters that resemble cotton igloos, the last time I witness the hideous, Chicago-particular pairing of high-heeled boots, pricey denim with the contours of leggings, and floppy north face jacket. The last Asian! The last football enthusiast! The last In the last moments of our waking life. . .
EVERYONE should be awake for it.
How dare they miss out on the collective fear! This is betrayal of the highest order! On my last two flights to Chicago I’ve sat next to two separate families all of whom slept through prayer-inducing turbulence, the kind that makes you eat spinach for lunch for a week and call your parents so frequently they get suspicious.
This is not about suffering together, maybe a little bit about suffering together, but more about how fiercely I oppose a populus whose internal systems are so lazy that they can CEASE ACTIVITY 30,000 feet in loose air!
In reaction to the above statements, you may be saying to yourself
“that’s so mean.” People who use this phrase tend to be from New
England, and I like this about New England, I like its straightforwardness about how mean it is. I find this to be one of its few redeeming qualities.