When Sailors Fly

When Sailors Fly

So just to be clear, I really, really, really, don’t like flying. Something about going 600 miles per hour, in something as thick as two beer cans, a few miles above sea level, where you can’t smoke. So any time I fly I get there two hours early. One hour for security and another hour for drinking as much rum as possible. When I board my flight, my drinking arm has been in the upright and lock position. So I’m sitting in my seat slugging rum and cokes as fast as my liver will allow when I realize there are only five people on the flight. The service is amazing and I sober up long enough to realize that the stewardess are chilling in the isles passing drinks down a line straight to me. I thank god for small miracles and I head to the head (bathroom to sailors), to empty my bilge (pee), to make room for more fuel (rum). Dropping your ballast is pooing to those wondering. Before going to the head I turn to one of the stewardess and say one more rum and coke please. After dropping a gallon of rum I emerged from the head and thrust before my face is a perfectly manicured hand holding a rum and coke at eye level. Is this love I thought?

I ask the girls where all the passengers are and they remind me I live in the murder capital of America. No one flys in or out. I agree with this rationalization and we struck up a conversation. Since there were no passengers convinced the girls to have some drinks with me. A few drinks later and I have a revolutionary idea. To cover the little counter top in the kitchen with empty miny bottles. With the help of four good looking stewardess; and the game is afoot.

I would like to point out that this flight was the short leg of a cross country flight lasting about an hour and a half. The game started thirty minutes into the flight, and the math on how many bottles is mathematically staggering. A three foot by two foot counter covered in miny bottles. Those woman could drink. I was drunk.

The next thing I know I’m on my next flight headed to my destination. My lay over is a complete mystery to me. Only two more hours of beer can aerobatics I thought. My hopes and prayers went out to those girls on their next flight giving the pre flight instructions drunk. “Your emergency exits are around. There are oxygen masks that will be deployed in the event of an emergency or oxygen party. The cushions your sitting on can be used as a flotation device. Don’t worry about people farting on them for the past three years because this flight is over land. If we hit anything it’s going to be a mountain. In the event of a crash landing don’t forget to place head between knees in crash position, and kiss ass good bye. The sky martial is a post traumatic stress patient just back from Afghanistan  His bullets can and will penetrate the hull causing explosive decompression, killing us all. The pilot was just caught cheating on his wife, has lost the will to live, and a six pack deep. Finally, his plane hasn’t had a proper maintenance in six months. Thanks for flying shitty airs now sit down and shut the fuck up the fasten seat belt light is on.”

This humorous day dream was rudely interrupted by the pilot’s voice over the intercom saying “Sorry for the interruption folks but we will be experiencing some turbulence for the remainder of this flight.” I just got on this flying beer can and now your telling me it’s a martini shaker. How will I be served rum I thought. This realization came perfectly as the drink cart goes by being pushed by a scared stuartist. Now I like to think I know when to drink heavily. This is when the people who fly every day look scared. I stiff arm the drink cart, and remove two cans of coke and three minis of rum. The guy says sir we are not serving anymore and I reply with a twenty and the simple comment “I really hate flying”. Approving my prescription he snags my twenty and runs to his seat. For the next two hours I was treated to a very difficult game. Drink Rum and Coke while your mode or transportation varies in altitude by hundreds of feet in seconds. I called the game Turbulence  So after trying to drink in a paint can shaker, I reached my destination, threw up in the parking lot of the air port, and vowed to take trains or boats from now on.

I guess I’m supposed to end with conquer your fears, statistically flying is safer then driving, but I just don’t like planes. I think we should be honest with ourselves. Know where your limits are and say planes and spiders I get a pass on. Apartment fires, SWAT, cancer, finding bodies, armed people breaking in, saving woman from being raped and sailing in hurricanes I got… But, forget planes and spiders that shit is scary. Your two passes I leave to you.

40 thoughts on “When Sailors Fly

  1. It’s that bit half way through your flight when you lift up one leg and bang it gently twice on the floor… and you think ‘there’s nothing on the other side but 20,000 feet of nothing between me and the ground’. Yeah, that. That’s what necessitates the next rum and coke. Or that in-flight favourite: the double Bloody Mary (god bless her).

    • Beautiful writing. Love the “My Life” but couldn’t find the comment button. Also, how do I go about following you? I want to say I appreciate your following of my blog, though that is not why I would like to follow you. I like your writing style.

      • when you view my page should be plus sign next to a check button also when you write messages a check box at bottom will send my writing to your email. Thanks for reading

  2. I need three passes…planes, spiders and snarling dogs showing their teeth as they throw themselves against my fence…Nice writing here…

  3. To people who like to quote statistics and say air travel is safer than by car. I say, fine, I’ll give them that, But what are my chances of *surviving* a crash in a plane vs car? That is the point.

      • I woulda thought the point was….in a car crash ( which is statistcally far more likely you’re gonna have) you rarely get 2 and a half minutes to think about how much you are going to miss out on, and the panic that ensues inside your guts, when you eventually hit something at over 600 mph like you do on a plane! Unless of course you’re flying in low cloud straight into the side of a mountain – then it’s probably just Goodnight Jane!

  4. It still amazes me that these big hunky things can lift off into the sky, but I still love them especially when there is turbulence. They still scare you after all the booze?!

  5. Took me a couple of re-reads and a few minutes before i understood that stuartist was a stewardess, or in the last case steward. Call me slow i guess? Or, for uniformity you could use the PC ‘flight attendant’ – or not? 😉

    • thanks for edit change made. I’m a terrible speller and spell check on my laptop is getting weird. Time for upgrade years ago. Tragedy of not making any money off writing. Hope my errors didn’t make reading to confusing. Hope you enjoy the other chapters, and thanks again for edit

  6. I thought I was a fan of flying until I did 19 hours from Dubai to Sydney and experienced real turbulence for the first time. Still don’t think I could bring myself to get drunk to get through it, the toilet line/thirst and general yuck is enough without added drunkedness.

  7. Rum and coke while flying? Yup, it’s the only way to go. I have a hard time sitting still for hours at a time, unless I have a drink in my hand. That makes drinking mandatory for me.

  8. I’m a former sailor, myself – Navy man. I’m not afraid of flying, I just find it to be such a pain in the a**. My clothes have to be ironed again when I get to where I’m going, and I get pushed and prodded like an unmanageable, troublesome bovine before I can get into the miserably small seat. I’m 6’4″, 200 lbs., with PTSD and a lot of anger issues. I’ll pass on the planes when I can. I would much rather drive – see America up close. There’s some crazy stuff you see on a long drive across this dysfunctional land!

  9. I am no fan of flying, but only because “them man” has a problem with me carrying while flying. I don’t go where I can’t carry, except to the courthouse, properly seated federal reservations and the occasional watering hole (illegal to carry weapons into drinking establishments here in Alabama). Other than that, I’d fly all the time. I love the idea of being seated, hitting a button, and a beautiful lady bringing me drinks, all without the threat of taking my house and half of the bank accounts.
    I don’t understand how someone who made a living by going farther to sea than is humanly possible to swim back could ever have a problem with something as simple as flying! I went army instead of navy simply because the thought of being on a sinking ship or a burning ship is a lot scarier than getting shot or blown to bits. A bullet to the noggin is a lot quicker than a shark ripping of a leg at a time.
    Oh, and that leads me back to planes. You won’t feel a thing when the plane smacks the side of a mountain.

    • because I can fix a sinking ship. Literally a few wedges and a blanket and you will make it back if you can keep the pumps working. It makes me so sad when people go out on the water and die due to the dumbest shit ever. Damn city slickers. With proper knowledge, vessel and a little luck sailing is no problem. Hell people have been sailing for 2,000 years, we have learned from all the other guys mistakes. My question to you is Can you fix a 747 engine before you hit the ground drunk? Or would you rather hammer wooden wedges and a blanked into a fiberglass hole drunk? Thanks for reading

  10. this blog is…something else. I spent 23 hours on flights from Korea to the United States as a kid. Flying has never been a huge deal to me.
    But when I jumped out of a perfectly working airplane…that was a different story. Was not enjoyable at all. But I faced a fear of mine.

  11. Hey, thanks for the follow! Really enjoyed the read so far and your writing style is really very engaging! I’ll definitely be back, and amen on the flying and spiders…I mean JEEZUS! That’s some scary shit! 😉

    P.S The flying beer can analogy is perfect!

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