I hate flying.
Now, I know most of you think this means the same as I’m scared of flying. Let me assure I’m not in the least scared of flying. While there are a zillion things that can go wrong on a flight, I’m pretty sure, if it were to happen to me it could happen on the ground too. I could just be driving my car and I could crash. A mad suicide bomber could attack the mall I’m in, doest have to be a flight! I could be trekking and fall down the mountain, be broken or dead. None of the major risks associated with flying are exclusive to flying so my hate doesn’t stem from any of those concerns.
In fact, more that the flight per se, it’s the whole process that makes me want to pull my hair out. Beginning with
Packing- something I hate as much as flying. My idea of packing is to pile up all that I need, put it in a large bin bag and move (feel free to point and laugh). Apparently, that’s not the case for most people!
Idea of going- just the thought of being somewhere else other than the comfort of my room and other familiar things gives me a panic attack, even if I’m going to my parents place. And, just when I’m settling down there, I have to PACK up and do the whole flying thing all over again.
Airport security- After taking time to dress up to go the airport, when u get there, they make you strip your shoes, belts, pockets (including that tiny piece of gum foil wrapping I never knew was in there!). And then they make you empty the carryon bag you have so carefully (or not) packed to fit in everything you need, making sure nothing can break. And the end of it, do they even offer to help?! Manner less monsters in blue! After they have frisked you and laughed over with their colleagues behind that stupid X-ray machine at your luggage, you are once again left to deal with the delightful job of packing.
Waiting- one of the side effects of being my dad’s daughter is that, I have a compulsion to get to the airport at least two hours before the time they ask you to be there (If you think that’s bad, try travelling with my dad!) which means at least 2-3 hours of wait, depending on how smoothly the airport security went. Another thing I’ve been scared off to do by a few friends of mine is to listen to my iPod or read or sleep while waiting for the flight. They have told me enough horror stories about people missing their flights as they did not hear the announcements stating the change of their boarding gate. This leaves me with nothing to do for a whole 120 minutes but listen to every damn sound that comes over the PA!
And now for the best part-
The flight- if you are unlucky enough to find a seat next to a baby, I needn’t explain more. But say you are lucky enough to land a seat otherwise; there is still the cell like windows, the cramped leg space to make you miserable. Though I ALWAYS carry my iPod and lots of interesting books to read on the flight, I can never somehow make use of either! Never being a fan of the teeny tiny TV they provide, I resort to looking at vast blank expanses of white clouds wondering- ‘am I there 
yet?’
Though you are most likely to find me sitting near an emergency exit on a flight, I’m there just for the leg room. I’m not deluded enough to believe that there is any possibility of me surviving a plane crash. Ill either be scared numb to move a muscle or too frantic to make a coherent useful thought, if the plane is about to crash. I just simply like my legs to have some space!
Arrival- the second I step off the plan, I start my long winded prayer to God for
Getting me here finally and
More importantly to have mercy and let me find my entire luggage.
If I’m going home there is always the joy of seeing my parents wait for at the terminal- that is until my mom tells me I have put on weight or how my carefully chosen top is all wrong for me!
Bon Voyage!
