The Happy Hypochondriac Survives World Travel. Kat Spitzer

in this coffin and go back up in the air, you are fuckin’ crazy.” I can’t say I disagreed with him. If I thought I could reasonably expect to get home from Melbourne, I may have tried. But I didn’t have a car, money or cellphone at the time. My parents weren’t home, so I couldn’t call them collect. I felt I had to take the chance. I really believed it might be the end. My short life flashed before my eyes; slowly, since we had time to wait for takeoff. A tear dripped from my eye as I began to reflect on the good times I’d had in my life.

      The flight attendant left the disgruntled man standing there, which totally wouldn’t happen today, and went to speak to the captain. They let him off. Due to the circumstances and the complete and utter fear of all the passengers, they offered everyone else the chance to disembark as well. The captain came back out. This had to be unprecedented. Was he going to be on a first name basis with all the passengers by the end of this ordeal?

      “That guy can go as far as I’m concerned. If any of the rest of you have a problem, then now’s your chance to leave. Otherwise, I will get you to Orlando safely.” One other person exited the plane as everyone, including the captain and flight attendants, watched in silence. “Good, okay. Now we will work on getting this plane back up in the air and over to its proper destination.”

      True to his word, and a half hour later, we were airborne yet again, terrified and humbled once again by Mother Nature. I can’t say I enjoyed that little flight. Because it was so close, we couldn’t get that high, so we basically flew right threw the storm. When we landed again, everyone cheered and hugged. So many pieces of luggage, cups, magazines, etc. had been dislodged during the flight, that it took a while to get our stuff and get off the plane.

      As soon as I saw my parents, I fell into their arms, bawling. I wanted to lie down on the ground and kiss it, germ-infested airport carpet be damned. I was so shaky that I could hardly walk. My voice had gone up a few octaves and I almost didn’t recognize it when I tried to speak. My parents had been told that we were rerouted and they had been very nervous because there had been four tornadoes spotted in the area. FOUR. And we were flying in the midst of them. I’m sure that’s safe. I told them to wait a minute and I ran, jelly-legged to the friendly family who had carried my luggage and gave them each a hug. I still don’t know their names. I hadn’t stopped shaking even when we got home. I was physically safe, yes, but mentally scarred.

      This is why I have to be on medication when I fly. I might need therapy.

      Hypochondriac Travel Tip #6

      When you try something new, just breathe through it and it won’t hurt a bit.

      6

       I’m Tough, I Do Construction

      Part I