How Much i Hate Flying


I hate flying.

With a passion I hate flying.


I know there are more accidents driving then flying every year, but at least if you get in an accident in a car you have a pretty good chance of walking away.  If you get in an accident in a plane, unless you’ve learned to grow wings and fly, you’re pretty much ground sludge.

I have taken an entire box of Dramamine during a 12 hour, 3 legged flight before.  Not cause I get plane sick…no, to knock myself the F out!  Sometimes I’ll pay $8 for a beer before the flight in hopes of it making me sleep (and being the ‘one beer queer’ that I am, I usually have a pretty good chance of it working).

If the plane moves a little, the engine noises change (especially when you hear them dampen and it sounds like the engines are suddenly losing power), or god forbid we hit turbulence; I’m always positive I’m gonna die.

Now, I’m not one of those people who freaks out and yells or anything.  I just white-knuckle the armrests and close my eyes and try to convince myself that if its my time, its my time, whether in a plane crash or bus.

Thank god I’ve never had those stupid oxygen masks malfunction and suddenly drop.  I’m pretty sure I would pass out and wake up needing fresh pants.

BUT I LOVE TO TRAVEL!   Hate flying, love to travel.  Kind of a contradiction.

Ok, a wicked contradiction. 

I have learned that international flights are better because they fly higher up in the atmosphere and therefore encounter less turbulence (though the 15minutes of climbing is not so much fun).  But waking up to turbulence in an international flight…or any flight is the worst thing ever.

No, I lie.  Taking off out of Las Vegas airport in the middle of the day in summer is the worst thing ever.  Especially when you’ve never done it before.  The whole time we are climbing the plane is dipping and dropping and going up and down.  I was hyperventilating and completely convinced there was something majorly wrong with the plane and it was about to pull a Final Destination and I was about to blow up and die a horrible, painful, searing death. (ironically, I was flying back east for a funeral).


Then, after we finally get up out of the Las Vegas area (now mind you – Las Vegas is a valley, in a giant bowl, which is surrounded by mountains on all sides), the pilot comes over the intercom and announces

“Thank you and sorry for the turbulence.  The cold air coming over the mountains mixes with the heat of the valley and causes vectors of thermal air, which cause turbulence as the plane passes through alternating cold and hot air pockets”.

‘Vectors of thermal air’?  Yea, thanks for using big words guy to sound all scientific and not sound like:


going down by motograf, on Flickr
Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic License  by  motograf 


I have started to attempt to get used to flying.  Or I’ve at least gotten really good at hiding that I want to freak out and cry and scream “WE’RE GOING DOWWWN” every-time the plane hits a bump.

(though I would TOTALLY skydive.  Maybe I should just board the plane with a parachute on my back from now on?!?)



I may hate to fly, but I love to travel, and obviously travel has won.  But I don’t think I will ever like to fly.


What do you not like to do, but deal with, to do what you love?