I Like Planes

     My aunt and uncle are extremely generous people. I honestly think that fact will be their undoing. For reasons known only to them, they felt it necessary to fly me down to Arizona, on their wallet, and have me stay in their home for a prolonged period of time. Pretty sweet deal. Fly, eat, and sleep. Free. Pro bono. Whatever that means.

     Anyways, I was in the great state of Utard. I stepped out of my small smelly house into the not so healthy inversion of Salt Lake City. Great way to start out the morning, by the way! Nothing says "good morning!" like a deep, hearty inhalation of gaseous DEATH. I'm already kinda asthmatic, so the SLC air just sent me into this stage of oh-gosh-please-have-mercy-on-my-soul. After braving the treacherous outdoors, I finally found myself at the airport. I'm not really sure what happened in between leaving the house and arriving at the airport, however. I guess the whole situation was similar to the first dream sequence in Inception. (Note: I was not drunk. I think.)

     Whenever I travel by plane, I use this one giant scuba diving bag that my dad won over a radio contest. It fits nine shirts, six pairs of pants, twenty-one pairs of socks, an equal number of underclothes, and occasionally a llama if I'm feeling generous. I always felt pretty cool using it, even though not a single thought towards design was put into it. As I was meandering through the terminal, however, I became incredibly self conscious. In my head, the bag was a giant vortex that contained everything I could ever use. To everybody else, it was this ugly black zip-lock bag on wheels. I experienced a new emotion: suit-case envy. I suddenly yearned to fit in, which at the time meant having a bag that sat on four wheels instead of two, was an even rectangle and not a deformed marshmallow, and maybe had *gasp* a color scheme.

     I got over my feelings of personal disappointment, and dropped off my bag. My feelings of anguish quickly returned when even the lady who put it on the conveyor belt gave me a look of disappointment in my choice of luggage.

     My gate always seems to be as far as possible from the entrance to the terminal. It wasn't a walk of shame, but being in gate B15 never seemed more distant. I'm pretty sure it'd take Usain Bolt three hours to sprint there. It amazes me even now how I got there on time.

     As I waited for the precious vehicle of aerial transportation, I waited. This family sitting to my right was just talking about the flight, when their little four-year-old blonde girl started sharing her opinion.

     "I LIKE PLANES!!!! THEY'RE SO FUN AND HIGH AND FLYING AND FAST AND AND AND AND AND I'M SOOOOOO EXCITED!!!!!"

     Hah hah hah, yes you are.

     With my luck, her and her mom sat right behind me. That's fine. But literally five seconds before the plane moved, she began making a noise. A terrible, ungodly sound. I didn't know that that pitch could possibly be made by any living creature, let alone this four year old girl. I've seen glass objects break in cartoons, but I was genuinely afraid that the windows on the plane would shatter, even if they were made of plastic. Through the unearthly wailing, I was able to slightly understand these words (warning, rough translation):

     "I WANNA GET OFF THE PLANE. WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE. EVEN YOU MOMMY. AND DADDY. AND THAT GUY OVER THERE. WE'RE ALL GOING TO BURN. ON FIRE. GET ME OFF THIS THING. I'M GOING TO DIE."

     I would use exclamation marks, but I feel that they wouldn't do the sound justice. I'm fairly certain that in between her wails of apparent agony I heard the demonic whispering of Satan. And Sauron. And the daleks. Actually, just to play it safe, if Satan, Sauron, and the daleks all had some weird love child, that's what her unintelligible rantings sounded akin to.

     After exactly one hour thirty-two minutes and forty-six seconds, the plane touched down in Phoenix. The wheels hit the runway. IMMEDIATELY, I kid you not, as soon as the rubber hit the road, it was as if the evil spirit parted ways with her soul. Where seconds before she had been continuing her Satanic death spell, she was now playing peek-a-boo. With nobody. Regardless, the demon of her tormented body appeared to have left. Those fifteen seconds of the flight were the most welcome and peaceful that I had ever dared participate in.

     I desired to kiss the ground once I got off the plane, but then again, I didn't know if the sadistic spirit transferred by contact.

     No one will ever know.