I am terrified of flying.
There’s no two ways about it, I hate flying. The very thought of it turns my stomach to such a degree that just writing this is making me want to vomit quite profusely. Fortunately, it’s one of those things I don’t have to think about very often, and therefore often forget about. It’s not like I look at chemitrails in the sky then get the incessant urge to run in the house and cry like a bitch or anything, I’d just rather avoid being on planes as much as humanly possible in my lifetime.
I don’t see it as an illogical fear in the slightest, unlike my mother who laughed in my face several times as I tried to explain this to her earlier today. What is there to like about airplanes? They are giant metal boxes that soar 32,000 ft above the surface of the Earth. The average weight of a passenger aircraft, according to Yahoo Answers is 80 tonnes. There are 1000 kilograms in a tonne. This means that the average passenger aircraft is around the same weight as 123 1990 Mini Coopers, 2,051,282 Creme Eggs or 1600 Jenna Jamesons, assuming she moves out of the porn industry and into cloning (assuming my maths is alright, which it’s often not. I’ll leave it to the pedants to sort that one). So. This means that when you’re in a plane, which is (hopefully) the same weight as 2,051,282 Creme Eggs, breathing recycled air and eating the shit that these morons try to pass off as food, you’re 32,000 FUCKING FEET IN THE FUCKING AIR. IN A METAL FUCKING DEATH TRAP. THAT IS THE SAME WEIGHT AS 2,051,282 CREME FUCKING EGGS (I think). You have 32,00ft to FALL TO YOUR FUCKING DEATH. And it won’t be like it is in the movies – there won’t be someone who dives in from the cockpit and shouts “Does anyone know how to fly a plane? Both the pilot and the co-pilot have somehow managed to die!” then some burly twat stands up and goes “Yes, only last week I flew some supplies and fresh clothes orphans in Ghana!” and none of you die – it will not be like that. There will be screaming and plummeting and crying and last phonecalls to loved ones and breathing apparatus dangling overhead that you’ll be hyperventilating too hard to use and sobbing and babies that are STILL FUCKING CRYING and fire and all sorts of horrible sights. Because you’re 32,000ft in the air and when you’re 32,000ft in the fucking air, there is no-one around to help you if a fuck-up occurs. You are relying solely on the people around you, and I have trust issues. I don’t give a fuck how hard they’ve trained in case of emergency, I don’t want to take the fucking chance. I’d rather walk.
So yeah. I’m going to New York in about 8 weeks. On a plane. I have to endure 7 hours of sheer panic, turbulence and bullshit just to go to America so that we can go on some Sex and the City tour or some shit (I’m kidding, it’ll be fun when I get there). It’s not that I don’t want to go, I just don’t want to endure 7 hours in a metal box of death cruising at 32,000 ft, doing not much, other than screaming. No-one can understand why I’m not excited, apart from me getting excited about fucking nothing ever, it’s because I hate flying.
I hate flying.
You seriously can’t comprehend just how much I absolutely cannot fucking stand planes.
Tags: Airliner, Airplanes, Ghana, New York, United States, Yahoo Answers
Did you ever hear the story of the man who was terrified of bombs on planes?
This man could never fly, because he was convinced that the flight he took would have a bomb on it. His friends tried to persuade him, but it was no use, he was sure that whatever plane he got on would have a bomb on board. His job required him to travel, so in desperation he went to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist talked to him, tried to persuade him, tried to point out the irrationality of his belief, but it was no good. The man was still sure that any plane he stepped onto would have a bomb on board.
So, growing tired, the psychiatrist sent the man to a mathematician. The mathematician did some calculations, and said to the man, “Look, the chances of there being a bomb on your plane, given how often you travel, are 186,000 to 1. Does that make you feel better? The man mulled, then said, “No, sorry. It still seems to risky.”
The mathematician thought for a moment, did some more calculations, then said, “OK, how about this? The chances of there being two INDEPENDENT bombs on a plane you are on are 336,000,000 to 1. Does that make you feel safer?”
And the man said, “Yes. It does. But how does that help me? What should I do?” and the mathematician said, “Well, isn’t it obvious? You need to take a bomb onto the plane.”
If you go to the docs you can get beta blockers, it’s the only way I get on a plane ever.
I hate flying too, but that’s a claustrophobia thing more than a falling out of the sky thing. I’m well aware that it’s much more dangerous crossing the road than it is to fly anywhere. Hopefully that hasn’t given you two more reasons to be anxious about your flight.
Wimp wimp wimp lol. I have never seen someone so scared over a simple thing in our lives.
There is a video of a girl who has a phobia of pickles. I’m inclined to believe that she’s more of a “wimp” than I am.