Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Canned Tuna In The Sky


Canned Tuna in the Sky

On my last flight, as I watched the 10 year old safety video from my airline’s monitor above the row in front of me, I ponder the collective expressions of the actors/employees who are portraying passengers in case of an emergency.

I’m in marketing, I get it. Show a calm business man as he sits comfortable, while a yellow plastic tube/mask drops from the console above and observe as he shreds any sense of panic and without hesitation, places the mask over his head to ensure a perfect fit to enjoy the smooth crash landing positions we all love.

I want what he ate before the flight. What was it? Quaaludes and crystal meth? COME ON!! If a red light and alarms pop on and an oxygen mask falls before my eyes, I WILL NOT be thinking about how “cool” I can look if I don’t panic.

I will be hyperventilating and acting closer to George Constanza at a children’s birthday party when he smelled “fire” as I make a new door where there isn’t one. Parachute smarachute..I’m going to wear everyone’s coat from the overhead bin and brace myself for a Disney ride of a lifetime.

I try so hard not to laugh at the absurdity of how I am SUPPOSED to fasten a seatbelt, I listening intently as I have a thousand times before, as the intercom follows up with, “If the cabin loses pressure, please ensure you place the oxygen mask on yourself FIRST before helping others.”

SERIOUSLY, save your OWN breath. You do not have to tell me that. My seated neighbor and I have shared only an arm rest, we are not blood brothers.

No offense, but with my long arms, I may even grab two masks and see which one exudes more oxygen before leaving the others to fight over the malfunctioned one.

Honestly, you think they would learn about travelers with frequent flier mileage and priority seat assignments. But Noooo. Each time I fly, I hear the flight attendant ask me if I am “comfortable” sitting in an emergency EXIT ROW and do I accept responsibility of what it means if we are forced to evacuate.

“Mmmmm..lemme think..YES, IT means I get more leg room than anyone but Captain Sully and if something goes wrong, I’m out of this (TITANTIC) bird in the sky first and I will be sure to call CNN and 911 before the passengers two rows behind even consider unbuckling their seatbelts!” (I hope they paid attention to how to UNLATCH)

BTW, Captain Sully isn’t on my flight but let me review this again in my head. He LANDED a plane and kept passengers ALIVE……(scratching my head) Is that NOT his job?

Remember loyal fans of the Sully world (this is cynicalbuzz.com, not Thursday’s edition of 20/20)

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Failing Passport Control

Failing Passport Control- http://www.cynicalbuzz.com


No matter how innocent and good I am. No matter how many times I travel outside the country; when I go through customs or a passport control, I feel like I’m a fugitive on the run.

Yes, I have accepted the fact I’m one faux pas or mispronunciation of the word “declaration” away from a border patrol officer sending me to a Turkish prison to star in the squeal..oops-transpose that-I mean sequel to “Midnight Express”.

CUSTOMS: -Business or Pleasure? “Well I did take a photograph of a nude statue, but I don’t plan on selling it…so does where does that get filed and would you like to see it?”

CUSTOMS: -How long have you been in this country? “Um..in hours? Are you kidding me? I think I arrived Thursday, but with the time difference, it could have been Wednesday. Do I get sent somewhere special for being able to tell time?”

CUSTOMS: Son, I DON”T ever JOKE. Do you think I’m smiling under these mirrored sunglasses? “No, But the ’86 TOP GUN crew called, they want them back before sunset.”

I’m sure my impersonation of the southern prison warden in "COOL HAND LUKE", “What we have hear is a failurrrrre to communicate” didn’t help my situation much with his “scent” of humor.

I do freak out over the smallest things. I’m even thinking to myself (What is the penalty for omitting the fact I have two souvenir spoons and refrigerator magnets stuffed in my suitcase). That is how paranoid I am. Thankfully I forgot I had a box of chocolates in my computer bag or I would have been a wreck.

As they stare at my passport, there is a big sign above their heads stating in big letters,

(If you are chosen to be searched,

we will provide both an officer

and witness observer)

OOOOH. LOVELY, I have BOTH a pervert and a voyeur asking me if I’m a packing mule or just happy to see them. I am never leaving home again. MOMMY!!

Honestly. I must not be meant to deal with the law at any level. Last night I was pulled over from a local police officer who asked me if I have been drinking.

“Officer, I have not drank anything other than the 2 liter bottle of Gatorade I had after working out, but I’ve been swerving on the road afraid I’m going to have different kind of accident trying to control my bladder AND simultaneously watch you in my rear view mirror as you TAILGATE my butt for the past 20 minutes JUST waiting for me to swerve.

I wonder how Wyoming is in the summer. I hear the border patrol there takes makes you check your belt buckle to verify your name before letting you mosey along.