Ever since they banned joke-telling at airports, I can't stop giggling in terminals.
It's not just that the naughty child within me apparently can't be beaten into submission (I also roll my eyes at weddings and skid around on trolleys in supermarkets); it's more that airports, flying, pilots in caps, the whole scene is the stuff of Monty Python humour.
Check-in staff? Kill me. "Are you carrying any dangerous objects with you today, ma'am?" they ask, not even waiting for my response because it's embarrassingly obvious to both of us that if I was inclined to slit the throat of an unsuspecting hostie, I'm probably not above telling the odd porkie-pie.
"Anything flammable?" Not telling! "Anything sharp?" Just my eye for the ridiculous, love.
I want to tickle the bored-stiff check-in staff, make them smirk a little, and take their minds off the fact that their imminent replacement - the electronic check-in booth - is breeding like topsy a mere 10 feet away.
(I also want to reassure them that to date I've never had a good result with an electronic check-in booth. Well okay, once, but I swear it meant nothing.)
Flying itself never ceases to make me laugh, albeit a nervous, tear-the-stuffing-out-of-your-arm rest sort of guffaw.
The engineering is preposterous, understood only by smug aeronautical geeks and simply to be accepted by we mere mortals.
For a long time I thought the drinks service on planes was all about toasting the fact we'd got away with take-off again.
(That said, while it's certainly impressive that we can now lift hundreds of people off the ground in one go, I'm sure that Orville and Wilbur Wright would be just a little disappointed that after all this time, planes still require a run-up.)
The interior design of modern aircraft is frankly hilarious. Why incorporate large viewing windows when tiny submarine-style portals are available? Why put overhead luggage compartments well above standing height when it's so much more fun to watch people stand up and whack their heads?
Why fit only 100 seats on a plane when you can squeeze in another 50 and assume everyone doesn't have legs?
Amusingly, the only seats on a plane that don't require one to suck on their knees for several hours are those adjacent to the emergency exit.
So here's the deal, folks: as punishment for being comfortable while all around you are those attempting to read magazines in the foetal position, you must agree to save everyone's life.
Don't worry, it's relatively simple. You just take hold of this red lever at the top and pull it towards you until this little panel shows a white strip while at the same time pulling this black handle at the bottom of the door, then you just pull the giant door into the aircraft - mind the panicked onlookers now - then toss the giant door out of the plane and into the ocean/snow/inferno. Oh, and don't forget your oxygen mask. I think I'd be more trusting of air travel if cockpits weren't closed off. What are they doing up there? And why don't they want us to see?
Why not at least come out and introduce yourself before take-off? Show us your pilot's licence?
Is it because, just like pilot "Buck Murdoch" in Flying High II, they're actually sitting up there screaming, "They're beeping and they're flashing. They're flashing and they're beeping! I can't stand it anymore!"
carrieon@big pond.com.
Email a friend