On every plane, just before take-off, the flight crew have to go through that safety briefing.
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If you’re even a remotely regular flyer you know the drill. Hell, you could probably step in and replace one of the staff if needed.
“Put on your seatbelt when the sign is lit, oxygen masks fall from the compartment over your head, put yours on before doing the same for any children, the life jacket has a light and a whistle for attracting attention, blah, blah, blah. Can we take off already?”
Most of the time, even the cabin crew look bored while they’re running through it.
Chances are they’re on auto-pilot at the time, their brain thinking about dinner or wondering which passenger is going to be a pain in the backside on this trip.
They're surely not expecting anyone to be paying attention.
And most people aren’t – they’ve got their headphones on, they’re reading or are heads down into their phone looking to post that last-minute Facebook status update before the plane takes off.
Except me. I’m watching the safety demonstration. And when it’s finished I pull out the safety card and look through it – even though I already know what the brace position is.
I don’t do it because I’ve got a fear of flying and I’m certain that any plane I get on is doomed to plummet from the skies.
I do it because I’ve got a respect of flying.
The ability to fly – something humans have only been able to do for around 100 years – is more than a little special to me. It’s not something I ever want to take for granted.
I want to look out the window and marvel that I’m among the clouds. I want to stare down in wonder at tiny houses and streets.
I never want to view flying in a plane as a bus with wings.
Baggage carousels, however, are the worst. I hate baggage carousels.
