My Point...And I Do Have One

relax somehow. Why didn’t I think of this sooner? I’ll recline my seat. Oh, that makes all the difference. That ¾ of an inch between upright and reclined is the difference between agony and ecstasy. I never thought ¾ of an inch could mean so much.
Now
I can sleep. When I get home, I’m going to put some gizmo in my chairs so that they go back ¾ of an inch, too. I wouldn’t overdo it like the guy sitting in front of me. His seat goes so far back that his head is practically in my lap. I can pretty much read his newspaper.
    I’d better not get too comfortable in my ¾ of an inch recline because toward the end of the flight, the flightattendant is going to say, “You’re going to have to put your seat in the upright position for landing.” They’re so adamant about that every single time, like that’s gonna make a difference. Because if we crash, the investigators are going to say, “Oh, that’s a shame, her seat was reclined ¾ of an inch. When will they learn? What was that—thirty thousand feet? She could have made that. Sheesh. If only she’d been upright.”
    Being reclined isn’t working. I’m still freaking out. I know what I need. “Oh, flight attendant. Oh, ma’am.” You have to talk nice to the flight attendants because they’re all arrogant little bitches. Unless, of course, you happen to be a flight attendant or are related to or are friends with one—then you are the absolutely lovely exceptions to this rule. But the rest of them, they have this attitude. And they can afford to have the attitude, because they have the power—they have the peanuts.
    They have these six peanuts that we need. Six peanuts. Somebody could offer that to you on the street, and you’d say, “I don’t want that shit—get that away from me. Six peanuts? No-oh.” Somehow they’ve done research. They know that the higher we go, the more we need nuts. And we go crazy if we don’t get them.
    “Miss, I didn’t get my, uh—my peanuts. And I’d really appreciate it if you gave me some. They’re good, aren’t they? I’ve never been able to get them on the ground either. At least not ones this good. Thank you. Oh, thank you.”
    Fuck, what was that! “We’re going to crash!” Oops, false alarm. It’s just the food cart coming down the aisle.
    I think they only give you six peanuts so that you don’t spoil your appetite for the disgusting meal that’s soon to follow. You never hear anybody say, “You know, I can’t finish that. Could you wrap that up for me please? That was delicious. It’s just too much. I’m stuffed! What was that, pigeon?”
    But we do get excited about it, don’t we? “Oh, here comes the cart, put down the tray! La la la la. Put down your tray! They’re starting on the other side first. Hurry! Hurry! Those people over there—they’re eating. Those people are eating.”
    This is the tiniest food I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I guess they figure everything’s relative. You get that high up, you look out the window, “Well, it’s as big as that house down there. I can’t eat all that. Look at the size of that. It’s as big as a house. Me thinking I could eat all that! Ha! Split that steak with me. Now
that’s
a steak.” Any kind of meat that you get—chicken, steak, anything—has grill marks on each side, like somehow we’ll actually believe there’s an open-flame grill in the front of the plane.
    Salads are always two pieces of dead lettuce and salad dressing that comes in that astronaut package. As soon as you open it, it’s on your neighbor’s lap. “Could I just dip my lettuce, ma’am? Hm, that’s a lovely skirt. What is that, silk?” But you know, should that happen, club soda’s gonna get that stain out immediately.
    That’s the answer to anything you ask up there, I don’t know if you’ve noticed that.
    “Excuse me, I have an upset stomach.”
“Club soda, be right back.”
“Excuse me, I spilled something.”
“Club soda, be right back.”
“Ooh, the wing is on fire!”
“Club soda, be right back.”
    I thought the food would make me feel less frightened. But it didn’t. Maybe if I stretch my legs and go to the restroom it will help.
    That was the tiniest bathroom I’ve ever been in. I guess they figure since the food is so tiny, the bathrooms should be minuscule, too. I read a book once where twopeople had sex in an airplane bathroom. I don’t see how that’s possible. I barely had enough room to sit down. There is a lit sign