The gift of bartering hope.

Christmas is typically a time of hope. This is evidenced in the number of statements starting with "I hope..."; such as:
"... I guessed his size right. If not he can always use the shirt as a tarp."
"... I remembered to take the packing slip from kijiji off the package."
"... the extended family has a blanket case of laryngitis."

I was reflecting on the theme of hope after a recent flight. It was a small trip; small plane, small place to go, gratefully small stay. The passengers outnumbered the crew 3 to 2, there were 3 of us. The plane was small enough not to be equipped with bathroom facilities.

This was a wonderful flight with fully catered meals and pilots who professionally steered the glorified tin can with smooth ease. They even offered us a thermos of coffee, which I greedily drank because the flight was just over an hour. I can hold my bladder until we're on the ground.

As it turns out, the pointer/steerers of the metal that floats on air decided against landing in a storm of freezing rain where they could not see the ground from a safe landing altitude. Thus we turned back, another hour and a half home.

I was not worried about the flight back or the aborted landing. I trust the judgement of the men in the front seats. I wasn't hoping to make it back alive, I wanted to make it back with dry pants. I honestly considered re-using that thermos.

In conversations afterwards several people confessed their fear of flying, especially in small planes. I told them this was foolish because I have no tact.

My argument is I would rather be chauffeured around by a couple of people who not only are professionally trained for what they are doing, but also that their life also depends on doing a good job. Most doctors do not have the same percentage chance of surviving the surgery as their patients, except the ones who have pushed the nurses just too far that last time.

Continuing the point, mainly because I have as much empathic awareness as a menopausal wolverine, I debated that if you were still nervous about your pilots you could try to barter them more hope to get home. I provided this hypothetical solution:

Me: "Hey flyboy, eager to get home to the little lady?"
Him: "I'm divorced. From a woman that could be best described as a walwrus with anger issues."
Me: "No worries champ, I know of some great women that I could hook you up with. Some might be married, but I'm sure we could 'arrange' their availability.
Him: "Huh?"
Me: "But if you don't yaw that way I'm sure someone is out there, right inside the terminal, but you have to get us home safe or you'll never know."

See that way you either instil in them hope, or creep them out enough to sedate and secure you so you're no longer aware for the flight. Either way it is far safer than relying on the competence and situational awareness of the average driver on the roads. That is where hope, prayer, and a buffer of 2 car lengths is needed.