The Many Perks of Air Travel

One of the many perks of air travel is the in flight service. Even in coach, even when the flight is near empty like this one, there are the stewardesses, whose job is to provide some in flight drinks and snacks. I personally have taken to their drinks quite well, the wine is doing wonders to dull the wailing infant to my right. I look over at and I see it, still in its booster seat, facing the plane seat it’s been plopped into by the inattentive bitch sleeping beside it. Neck pillow, ear muffs, blindfold. What a jackass. How dare she leave me in this situation, with this terrible choice lingering overhead.

I’m on my fifth glass of wine, which I think is about four more 5an they usually offer, but the lack of many other passengers means I get special treatment, which, as I’ve already, is doing wonders to drown out that screaming child. It is not, however, doing wonders for my temperament.

I can feel myself growing surly with each passing minute, no, with each passing second. I’m travelling alone, I’m going to meet family in Thailand. One of the many perks of air travel is how it expedites the process of travelling itself. It is simply much faster than going by land or by sea, and, in the case of a man travelling from Toronto to Thailand, is the only reasonable method of getting there. Which has the added curse of leaving me choiceless in the long term.

Why do they have to live in Thailand, why does there have to be a baby, no doubt suffering from the air pressure change, being carted along by a woman who neglects it. I’d be doing it a favour, it and I and the rest of the people. I’ve seen the stewardesses face as she comes over here, how she has to force her customary smile at the aural onslaught. I should do it. I can’t do it.

One of the many perks of air travel is that it’s compact, which means it’s easier to monitor. It’s similar to a bus or a subway train. There are no doubt cameras along this length of it, I just can’t see them. The baby finds a new pitch to cry in, and I’m grasping the serving tray in the empty seat in front of me. I can’t focus on my movie.

One of the many perks of air travel is the in flight entertainment. I’m watching a film called Dunkirk currently, with headphones in, but I still cant fucking hear anything over that little lump screeching to my right. I pause it and lean my head out into the centre walk way. There are just three other passengers. I can’t tell what they’re doing or thinking or even if they’re still awake, but I know they’re thinking the same thing as me, the same thing as any reasonable person being pushed to heir limit:

If only I could shut that thing up.

They want me to do this, they want this to end. They won’t tell anyone. The stewardesses haven’t been along in some time, so that must mean I’m being given an opportunity. An opportunity to be a vile monster. My fingers are tapping on the serving tray in front of me. My leg is bouncing up and down into the underside of that same tray. I can feel a gleam of sweat on my brow and the crawl of muggy heat smearing across me like mud fresh from a rainfall. Nobody here knows me and I know none of them. Another perk of air travel. I stare out of my window and see nothing but the dark and the distant ocean stained black as if filled with crude oil. Yet another perk of air travel; international waters. Really mucks up the court systems, I could do anything I want. I know it. The others know it. The only one who doesn’t it the fat cheeked infant I am crouched over, who has just reached another pitch in its register of ear splitting shrieks.

My hand is around its throat before I can stop myself. Dear god what am I doing? I’m squeezing as hard as I can. Dear god I need to stop, I need to be stopped. I look down the length of the plane and no one is moving. No one is watching. Somebody come out and stop me for the love of all that is good please. I look back at the baby, doubtlessly a newborn given its baldness and excess of fat. It’s eyes are bugging out of its little skull and its tongue looks swollen past its puckered lips. It’s so damn hideous that I have to keep squeezing. It won’t shut up if I let it go. I need to let it go, it’s turning blue you sick bastard why can’t you stop?

WHY CAN’T YOU STOP?!

It stops its uselessly thrashing after just a minute, but I don’t stop choking it for two more than that. By the time I release it I can feel carefully constructed structures in its throat dangling loose just under the skin, if they haven’t disappeared in their entirety. I quickly move to the bathroom and vomit profuse. Another of the many perks of air travel is the in flight latrines. When I’m finished I exit and see, as opposed to any widespread panic and horror, or an angry mob ready to skin me from tip to toe, there is nothing that wasn’t seen before. My sweating has gotten worse, the unbearable heat on my skin now feels hardpacked. I look at the lifeless little corpse in the seat beside me and quickly look at what I assume to be the mother. She is young, terribly young. Too young for this kind of loss and too young for this kind of stress. I take my seat as if nothing had happened. If a stewardess comes back here to offer me more complementaries, I’ll be found out, I know it. I just have to wait and accept my punishment as it happens. So I wait.

I wait still

I wait until the in flight intercom crackles awake and notes our impending arrival. I flinch and twist myself to look at the mother, who is stirring. I can feel relief wash over me as she soon slumps back over to the side, sleeping again. I need to make haste after we land, so as soon as we do, I pull my luggage out of the overhead compartment and shove my way through the more sluggish passengers. I even knocked one passenger, an elderly woman, back into her seat, but I don’t care. I need to get away right this instant.

When I arrive at the airport terminus, I quickly scan around. It is filled to the brim with people, with noise so dense I can hardly hear my own thoughts. I can hear the quick footsteps behind me though, so I quickly hurry to the security checkpoint. I place my rollercase onto conveyer belt and get in line behind two other people. The calling voices behind me are lost among the wall of ambient sound in the airport.

One of the others goes through.

I can hear them again, the people calling for me. Whether because of the old lady or because of the baby (oh dear god the baby), it’s inconsequential for me to think about it.

The other one goes through. It’s my turn finally as the frantic calls grow closer and closer, louder and louder. I’m going to be arrested. I’m going to go to prison. I’m going to be executed as an example of what not to do with your life and it’s all my fault.

The security guard waves me through, as if he doesn’t even hear the stewardesses calling for me. I thank him, take my luggage, and run as fast I can away. The calls grow distant and, eventually, stop altogether. I’m huffing and puffing and looking around me at the masses ignoring my presence, occasionally twisting past me on their way to live their own lives. When I finish my panting, I straighten up and join them out of the main doors.

One of the many perks of air travel is that you can take your life anywhere.