Thank you to every kind and wonderful person who responded to my last blog. It really helped.
I'm back in DC after that hellacious double-Amsterdam trip. I allowed myself a 14 hour coma and I'm now starting to feel back to normal. I worked 36 flight hours in just over five days. Boy, I hope I don't get THAT assignment again very soon.
Back to my last blog...I do know the statistics. We are all in more danger simply crossing the street or driving a car than we are on an airplane. Even someone who flies as much as I do is safer at 36,000 feet up in the air than when I drive myself to the airport. It wasn't the idea of the plane crash that made me feel, as I said in my last blog, "vulnerable". I'm not afraid of flying. I'll never be afraid of flying. I love flying. I hope I can fly forever.
But here's why I felt vulnerable. I know that plane (Boeing 777-200 ER) like the back of my hand. I've flown on that plane many times. I've worked those rear jumpseat positions. I know where every coffee pot is. I've stood in that back galley joking, laughing and making layover plans. I've held babies in that galley while moms used the lavatory. I've eaten my dinners at the counter in that back galley. I've administered first aid to dehydrated passengers in that galley. I've handed out more cups of water and packets of pretzels in that galley than could ever be counted.
And I know what a descent onto a runway is supposed to feel like when sitting in those jumpseats. There's a certain feeling, a hard-to-describe sensation when the plane gets close to touching down. Maybe it's the way the airflow under the plane changes. I don't know. In the industry, we call that sensation "flare". Flight attendants can tell, from the way the flare feels, if the touchdown will be smooth or rocky, hard or soft, fast or slow. As I said to Giulia earlier in a pm, those flight attendants on that Asiana flight KNEW something felt wrong in the moment before impact. I told Giulia that I've often made casual comments to the other flight attendant sitting in the back of the 777 (as we fly into that EXACT runway in SFO where the crash occurred) such as "Sheesh, he's bringing us in awfully slow, isn't he?" or "Oh, he must really be in a hurry to get home!" or "He knows this runway is made of concrete, right? Hahaha" or "Geez, he's a wobbler, isn't he? Good thing I know how to swim!".
And, of course, we always land safely. And, statistics prove, we always will. I have a greater chance of being killed in a shark attack (one in 3.7 million) than in a plane crash (one in 11 million).
But I don't swim with sharks. I fly. So, for a brief moment, I felt vulnerable. Thank you all for helping me get my balance back. And a special thank you to Guilia for her letter to me. It made a difference, Giulia.
XXXOOO, Sky
