Have a safe flight!

Here is fictional short story I wrote on the plane. I don't really have anywhere else to save it, so it get to be on my blog. Lucky you.

Have a Safe Flight!

I only waited in the security line for ten minutes before reaching the formidable metal detectors.

"Take all the metal our you pockets and put them in the tray please."

"Will coins make this thing beep?"

"No sir, they shouldn't." The security guard had the typical bulge just above his belt, as if he stuffed a throw pillow into his button up, and tucked it into his pants. This was as intimidating as his nightstick. I could easily outrun him if it came down to it.

"What about my belt?" I asked

"Nope, should be good, mate."

"Good." My pants were too loose to stay up by themselves.

"Do you have any explosives in your bag?"

"No."

"Lighter."

"No." I lied. After a two hour flight, I wasn't about to delay my smoke any longer, having to track down a lighter at an airport.

"Put your bag on the belt please."

I followed his instructions, walked through the floating gray doorway, stopped just outside of it, waiting for that beep that always hits me when I'm sure I'm metal free. No beep. Lighter passes through fine. This Australian security is quite lax. My 1.5 liter bottle of water even passed unquestioned. What if I filled it with gasoline? I needed not take off my potential shoes bombs either. In fact, my Gillette Mach 5 Turbo even made it through. They're damn lucky I'm not a terrorist; I could easily take this plane down.

I sat in the uncomfortable terminal chairs, ate my $8 croissant, and listened to whatever random crap popped onto my iPod until boarding. I didn't shut if off going through the line. The stewardess was obviously annoyed, but looking back, I wasn't the only one stuck in my own white headphoned world.

I found my seat, reclined back and grabbed the appropriately titled Navigator out the mesh pouch. Nothing interesting. Sudoku already finished, incorrectly, as were the other in the neighboring two seats. I sat back and closed my eyes.

I heard the loud ding and opened my eyes. A stewardess, or I should say "steward" held a detached seat belt and started demonstrating how it works. Who doesn't know how to work a seat belt? Exits are on the sides and back, just follow the track lights. Put on the oxygen mask if the cabin pressure drops. Safety vests are under the seat. Pull the string, it magically inflates! Blow into the tube if it doesn't work. I kept my eyes closed, imagining Jim mouth the words I knew so well.

One song later, felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the same stewardess form the gate, Maggie. Her lips moved and I nodded, then closed my eyes again. Another tap. I pulled the right bud out and actually listened.

"Sorry sir, you need to put your seat up for take-off."

"Oh, sorry."

"And sir."

"Yes?"

"You have to turn your music off."

"Why?"

"It can interfere with our navigation systems."

"What? So instead of hearing instructions from control, they'll hear U2 instead?"

She smiled a smile of hate, then turned her head slightly to the left, squinting her eyes a little. "It is just a safety procedure we have to follow."

"Alright. I'll do it for you, Maggie, because you asked so nicely."

"Thank you, sir."

She's going to give me a Diet Coke instead of regular, I could tell. She waited while I put my iPod away and put the seat up. The moment she wandered to the back to do whatever they do back there, I put my seat back down and took my iPod out again and returned to my melodic world.

The flight took off as usual, things were fine for about five minutes. At the point when we reached the fluffy, pillow clouds like those on the toilet paper packaging, I heard a pop. I looked down and saw my backpack was on fire. Odd, cabin pressure really can make lighters explode. Within seconds, my magazine, Jame Patterson novel, and a word search book must have ignited, because the small fire had grown to engulf my entire pack.

The red-eye flight was mostly empty, so I hoped nobody noticed the smoke pouring from my bag. I stomped with my feet, but it did little to stop the mini-inferno now spreading up the seat in front of me. Suddenly a loud beep churned in over my music, the lights went dim. My attempts of being incognito failed. Maggie and Jim rushed over, bearing red cans. I was soon covered in white goo. I wiped it off my face in time for the yellow oxygen masks to fall from above me. I put my mask on, but the bag didn't inflate.

"Is it working? The bag won't inflate!" I asked Jim, Maggie, or whoever else might be listening.

Maggie answered, "Yes! the bag doesn't need to inflate. We explained that!"

A godly voice poured in through the cabin. "Everybody stay calm, there has been small cabin fire, but it has been extinguished. We are preparing for an emergency landing. Stay calm. There should be no problem."

I could tell in his too-calm voice that there was in fact a problem. In the background of his speech, I distinctly heard the same song, same notes, same lyrics as the music still pumping through the white bud in left ear.
We started heading down. The plane lurched forward and I felt the bump and heard the crack as the person behind me hit his head in my still reclined chair. A baby behind me was screaming. A man in front of me was screaming in the same way. The plane continued tilting forward at an angle much too steep to be normal. I put myself in what I thought was the "brace position" and closed my eyes and continued listening to my music. Soon, my popping ears drowned out all sound. I think I got the bends. Can a person get the bends from a falling plane?

Seconds, years later. I felt the thud as the plane hit the water. I smacked me into insufficient padding on the seat in front of me. Besides that, I think I was ok.

I reached below the seat for my much needed life jacket, but it wasn't quite where I expected it to be. Feeling the underside of my seat hoping to find anything rubber or plastic, I finally felt a velcro pouch. I ripped it open grabbed the vest and put it on, pulling the strings. It puffed up instantly. Magic. We were safe on the water and I knew I had a fun ride down the rubber slide. I grabbed a smoke from my pocket and lit in the mostly dead embers of my charred backpack. I looked around and searched for the nearest exit, but I couldn't find the track lights anywhere. I should have counted the seats instead.

They'll blame me for this, I know. I blame the lax security, the man hoarding a pillow in his shirt, hoping a nightstick will scare me.