Fear Of Flying

I hate to fly. Yes I know that, notwithstanding Icarus's disobedience of his father and its disastrous consequence, flying is the safest form of transportation available. People say that takeoff, approach, and landing are the most hazardous parts of the air travel, but I know that the most dangerous leg of my flight is my trip to the airport. Other drivers just can't be trusted. Many more people die in automobile accidents than in those involving aircraft. Even in time of war. And the statistics are even more lopsided when the determination relates to the number of deaths per passenger mile.

Yet I hate to fly. But it's not any particular fear of flying. Certainly not a rational fear. (I'll admit that every now and then I have a fantasy about the airborne bus falling from the sky, but it doesn't really constitute fear, and the image disappears quickly in the face of common sense.) Every now and then there's a story in the media about an airplane disaster somewhere or other, but that's not because flying is dangerous. Quite the reverse. Accidents are newsworthy because they're so uncommon, and because they sound so horrible. What is not reported is that there are about three billion airline passengers each year with a total of 173 fatalities in 2013. That compares to 1,589 knife-related homicides in the United States alone that year. And over 33,000 deaths in American automobile accidents. Worldwide, of course, the numbers are higher.

Still, I hate to fly. And that's a little inconvenient since my daughter and her husband and six children live in Jerusalem. And another granddaughter with her husband and daughter live there as well. (There's also an assortment of other relatives, but I'll spare you.) So my wife and I take a couple of trips to Israel each year. Flights. And we take some other air trips as well, so it adds up.

I remember my first flight, in the late 1940's. It was just after the Second World War and my family flew from La Guardia Field in New York to Albany (NY) on a DC 3. Then I was scared, but by 1950, when we flew to Chicago, that was less of an issue. I can't even remember the flight. It made no impression on me. We took a tour of the States by train from there (train travel is very safe – only a little over ten times as dangerous as flying) and I recall that I enjoyed the trip greatly – especially the sleeping car. Clearly I wasn't devoid of awareness of the world around me, but I guess that flying no longer inspired fear. Even more pertinent, a few years later my brother and I traveled to (and from) Europe on the Ile de France. I did get seasick but I never worried about the ship sinking and all of us drowning, despite the fact that the likelihood of dying while on a ship journey is more than fifty times that of flying. But I digress.

If I'm not worried about flying, then, why do I hate it so? Well, let's start with getting on the plane. No. It begins long before that. The first trick is negotiating the airline's web site, and that of the ticketing agent. Perhaps it's my computer, but the sites never seem to work right. Choosing an airline for me is based almost entirely on the lowest price and flight times most similar to my schedule. I have no loyalty to a particular company so it should be easy. But it isn't. I guess the same is true for those who use other modes of travel however, so I won't pursue the issue. But I do blame the airlines for sometimes forgetting my seat or food choices. They solicit the information from me, but that doesn't always get translated into the right seat or the right meal.

I also blame them for wasting all my time with printing boarding passes which are then redone by them when I check in. And there are delays caused by a long line of passengers waiting to do so, along as well as secondary to the security check-in which requires me to undress first and re-dress afterward. I certainly feel reassured by the security, but I've never been blown up on the subway even though they lack the sophistication of the airlines.

I have other, more significant beefs though. Cabins on cruise ships may be small, but they're luxurious compared to the narrow seats on planes and the lack of adequate leg room. (And the available space – actually its absence – in the dirty toilets.) Each inch that they take from every seat may translate to more rows and more seats and, most important, more revenue for the carrier, but it only adds to the discomfort of the carried. (You can be sure I'm not going to pay the obscene premium that they demand for a first-class seat.) The lack of space also makes balancing a meal on the plane a real challenge. I guess that's just as well though since the food isn't very good. I only wish that they'd pick up the garbage more promptly rather than leaving it for me.

If there was a long wait to board the plane, it takes even longer to get off after the plane has landed. First you must retrieve your carry-on luggage from wherever it is. It's almost a sure thing that the overhead bin intended for your seat will be filled by the time you get there and the space under the seats is inadequate, and filling it with anything makes sitting even more uncomfortable. Then there's a lot of rushing and pushing to get into line to leave the plane, but that's not really of any consequence because it takes a long time for the line to move, and even after you disembark everyone has to wait by the same carousel for the baggage. If yours hasn't been lost, it will surely be the last to arrive.

And then there's the dangerous trip home from the airport.

I haven't mentioned a number of the problems like the crying babies, the cramping caused by the passenger in front of you who lowers his seat back, and the child behind you who kicks your seat throughout the flight. And the people standing in the aisle next to your seat so they can talk with their friends. But by now you get the point. What's a traveler to do?

So the next time I visit my daughter I'll probably … fly. What the hell. It's the only game in town.