Strange Airplane Dreams

As the Little Fluffy Cat knows, my plate is overflowing right now, but I thought I would post a couple disturbing dreams I’ve had just in the last couple of days. Hopefully, these aren’t psychic in nature and are just the result of the madness going on around me (and in me). So in the interest of getting a second opinion, I’ll let you be the judge.

Dream 1: My husband and I are on a big airplane, probably a 757. I have the middle seat, and he has the aisle. This is because Mr. Demonic is incredibly tall and I am a midget and can fit anywhere, including the backseat of an AMC Hornet and inside my high school locker. We are leaving our Tundra town. If you knew where I lived and were familiar with the airport, you would know that planes have to taxi practically to the next state to take off. Anyway, we are driving along, Mr. D furiously scribbling notes on a pad, and me paying attention to the flight attendant. (This is because as a one-time flight attendant wannabe, I know that their jobs are vital to the safety of passengers. I want to know where my closest exit is.)

At last, it is our turn to depart. The plane takes off slowly. It doesn’t feel right. Sure, it’s a big plane, and it’s practically magic how something so huge can get off the ground to begin with. We are hovering what seems to be only fifty feet from the tarmac. All of a sudden the plane shoots straight up with a tremendous burst of speed. When I mean straight up, I mean perpendicular to the ground. Mr. D and I are facing the heaven, our backs glued to the seats. I grab him and say “This is the end” or something stupid like that.

My next sensation is that the plane does a somersault. I’m pretty sure we are toast.

Then I wake up in a sweat.

Dream #2: The entire Demonic family is taking a trip by plane. It’s a 747, you know, the one with upstairs and downstairs. We’re going to London, don’t ask me why. I have never been and have no desire to go there. It’s not our usual carrier of choice, but an upstart.

Mr. D has secured for us the back of the plane. If you are familiar with train travel, you know that to travel comfortably across country, the best route is to get a sleeping car. We’ve done this on many occasions, especially when my daughter was a baby, my son was a little boy and he was in love with trains. We’ve had the family suite, and it’s great with little kids. Anyway, in the dream, this air carrier had what looked to be a sleeping area. For $150 per person extra, we had our own enclosed space with pull down beds. The airline said we could stay in the sleeping area for our entire stay in London. There were two of these areas, and another family occupied the other one.

When we took off, we were unencumbered by seat belts, and while it was scary, we survived. We laughed, we drank champagne, we ate chocolate. When we arrived in London, everyone else departed, and it was  just us and this other family. The flight attendants tried to get us to deplane as well. They were surly and rude in fact, and were shooing us off. Both Mr. D and the father of the other family were up in arms. They protested with shouts of “but we paid $150 each to stay here!”  We had no other lodging in London and for some reason couldn’t get anything else. The head flight attendant said that the extra charge was just for the trip across the pond. If we didn’t get off, we would be going to Egypt with the rest of the flight. (!)

I woke up again in a sweat.

I don’t think I’m going to sleep anymore.

A Cure for the Red-Eye

I’ve been flying back and forth between the Left Coast and the Rust Belt quite a bit, and most of the time, I’ve had to make use of what is known in the airline vernacular as the “Red Eye.” This means the plane leaves late at night, and it arrives at your destination early in the morning. Five a.m. is a good time for red eyes to come in. That goes for both planes and people.

I used to hate doing the red eye. This is because I can’t sleep sitting up, and I can’t sleep with people watching me. I also can’t sleep in uncomfortable chairs, and I can’t get comfortable in an airplane chair.

One of my employees, who got married in Italy to another one of my employees (what a happy union! Too bad I couldn’t make it, since someone had to mind the store…) gave me a sure fire cure for traveling on red eye flights.

First, make sure you get up early in the morning, even earlier than normal.

Second, run around like a possessed person all day long, so that you are sufficiently tired by 9 p.m.

Third, have a generous alcoholic beverage when arriving at your gate. This takes the edge off from fighting rush hour traffic in downtown LA, having to have been stopped as part of a routine check of all cars coming into LAX, and then having to wait in the security checkpoint for an extra long period of time since they were training in a newbie. While considering alcoholic beverages, consider a double margarita made with Cuervo Gold, rocks, no salt. That’s what I did.

Fourth, forty-five minutes before your plane departs, down a couple of Benadryls. If you must know, in my case, that will be in approximately one hour and twenty minutes. Set your watches, please.

Fifth, or perhaps Zero, make sure you have your own comfortable pillow. I used the one that I had flattened with my butt on the bumpy car ride out to this part of the country.

I have found that by following this prescription for the red eye, by the time you settle into your seat, you are so tired that you can’t help but fall asleep, instantly.

By the time you wake up, it is 5:15 a.m. and the flight attendant is nudging you from your seat.

Try it. It works.