Planes

There are planes of consciousness.

Then there is flight LX348 from Geneva to London.

While one reveals reflections on the sap of life, the other presents the variety of material stuff that makes up the body of life. In other words, People.

For a mere few hours, these oddities of the human species mysteriously come together. Our (for the author is one of these) paths cross in what seems a game of destiny. Standing in line, the web starts to stick to each individual, from which there is no escape. From the boarding gate to the luggage belt, hierarchies, races, statuses, ages shuffle around one another, helplessly, at the mercy of the flying machine.

Observing these individuals is rather entertaining. Here is a sample, perhaps similar to those used for the statistics of electric toothbrush efficacy:

You have the neat, young male business graduate, with pants so tight it is obnoxiously clear that he would’ve made more money as a male stripper.

You have the girl who effortlessly spends copious amounts of time on looking like a Bon Jovi cover album to hider her insecure, crooked smile.

You have the two brothers, fresh out of a Swiss boarding school with their tennis rackets peeking out of a bag. Their practiced nonchalance marries a posh British accent to the words “Oh God no, don’t compare me to Dad and the rest of them. They’re so materialistic and superficial it makes me sick.”

You also have the old couple, who display their comfortable wealth - she, with a designer x Snoopy outfit, and he, with a jolly belly of fortune.

Whether this randomized sample accurately reflects the “types” of people that commute from Geneva to London, well, that is a question for the nerds- another peculiar type of humans, rarely perceived.

But neither nerds, nor the statistics of electric toothbrush efficacy, interest our author. What is peculiar to observe, is that web of destiny, that strangely stretches from one to another, like sap.

What on earth are these creatures doing here? Today, at the exact same time, waiting like sheep to go to the exact same city? It is the question of destination that is curious, not the journey. For here, the journey is completely left up to the airline “gods”; when will you get on the plane? When will the plane take off? Will your seat be comfortable? (Don’t be ridiculous) How can we get out of turbulence? When will the toddler stop screaming?

Flying. What a ridiculous term to say “sitting in a hunk of metal being propelled at 50’000ft altitude, with nothing but prayers and ungodly amounts of diesel”.

It is a complete surrender of control, something that humans aren’t very good at doing - unless it is to celestial beings. People become amusingly religious in planes, perhaps to justify this loss of control, instead of understanding flying as a pact of trust. A vow of faith in the pilot, the crew, the airport controls - the works.

If humans could fly, all on their own, would we still have the pleasure of mingling in this fantastically random game of fate? Wouldn’t we just be bumping wings and translating road rage into sky screaming?

The author muses that ego was the sun that melted Icarus’ wings.

At least flight LX348 to London hands out British shortbread cookies.

The people seem quite content to be part of this silent, polite mass of destiny.

How very human of them.