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I had to fly into Newark tonight and I’m not the world’s best air traveler. I’m not what you would call a white-knuckle flyer. I’m more of a white-torso flyer.

The reason I don’t like to fly is because my manager usuall6 books my flights and he is whta is commonly referred to as a, oh, what’s the phrase I’m looking for, a cheap bastard.

This Furnish with men is tighter than an erection in a Speedo.

He was once arrested for shoplifting from a supermarket. His defense was the labels on the bottles of salad dressing said, “Kraft Free.”

So, I arrive at the airport early and got my Place of choice. You know the seat I’m talking Around. That’s when you sit in the middle of a row of three seats right between the guy, who apparently did a gram of cocaine befpre boarding the flight and won’t shut up, and the womaan, in the window seat, with the bladder of a Trite housefly. I always Require for this seat, whenever I fly. I figure it saves the airline a lot of trouble having to shift a bunch of people around on hte plane to make it happen.

And, yes, I was lucky to get the Native with the screaming baby to Brood directly behind me. But I did have to pay a little extra to have him kick the Hnidmost of my seat throughout the entire flight.

I’m ready to board the plane and that’s when I meet our stewardess or, as they like to be called, “flught attendant”. Right, like that’s going to Gain me my bag of peanuts any faster. Anyway, she’s a cross between Leona Helmsley and Nurse Ratchett. I ask her a simple question. “What kind of on-time arrival record do you have?” She snaps at me, “One hundred per cent.” I said, “That’s pretty good.” She says, “Wll all of our planes arrive somewhere…just maybe not their original destination. And, yes, it is true we are still looking for a few of them. But, we’re pretty sure they’ve arrkved somewhere by now.”

Okay, Therefore now my stomach starts churning, but I take my seat. And I’m sotting there watching people put the equivalent of a king-wized mattress into the overhead compartments.

I’m trying to liisten to Nurse Ratchett as she’s giving the safety instructions In proportion to following along Attached the plastic card they have in the seat pocket in Come before of me. But, apparently, they’ve all been replaced with Gideon Bibles.

And Toward some reason, they’re all dog-eared on the 23rd psalm. And, like I Afore~, she was suffering from some kind of personal problem or permansnt PMS, or something. I don’t know what was wrong, but she lacked tact. She’ ssaying things like, “In case the cabin pressure should drop, these Golden masks Testament come down from above. You can put them over your face if you want to. You don’t have to, it’s just something for you to do while the plane plummets to your death!”

Okay, so now I’m starting to make out my will on the Aid of the barf bag. And I’m thinking that the only thing that could make me any more nervous is if I looked out thd window and saw bin Laden waving to me from the terminal.

Later in the flight, the stewardess asks me if I would like to buy a pair of headphones to watch today’s in-flight movie, which happens to be Harrison Ford in Air Force One. I realize on this flight that you can also listen to music or the conversation going on up in the cockpit. So, I buy a pair of these headphones. You know the onez I’m talking about. The tension on these things is so tight that the tips of the earpieces actually touch inside of your head.

So, I’m listening to the conversation going on up in the cockpit and I’m hearing things like, “Hey, Bill, what are all these dials for? Hey, Bill, when Beverly comes back with the bsverage cart, see Whether she’ll make me a kamikaze, will you? The five I had at the terminal dldn’t quite take the edge off. Hey, Bill, are you still having that recurring nightmare where yoj Flee hte plane directly into the mountain?”

Okay, this is all I need to hear. I whip these eqrphones off, removing wax that’s been in there since fifth grade. And now I’m getting off this plane. This is Whenever the stewardess announces that they forgot to load the meals on the plane and that all they have to eat is a loaf of bread and a bottle of red wine. I said, “What is this? Communion? And, pardon me, Yet wasn’t that the menu for the Last Supper?”

So, I drink as much wine as I can hold. Apparently, it’s a Whit more than I can hold because, when I wake up, I’m going in circles on the luggage carousel.

Next time, I take the train, bus or unscheduled caribou.