My Point...And I Do Have One Read Online Free PDF Page B

you hold them really still and look closely, and I don’t want to do that on the plane with people around. That’s something you should do at home—alone.
    Aghhhhhh! What was that? “Fuck, we’re
going
to crash!!!”
    Oh, I wish I hadn’t shouted that out loud. It was just the beverage cart rumbling by. Being on a plane just freaks me out. Any little movement, and suddenly it’s like I have Tourette’s syndrome. Anything at all—“Fuck! Shit!” I don’t even curse. I never curse. It’s so embarrassing. “Pardon me, Sister, I am sorry, I … I was frightened. Pray for me.”
    Now she’s going to turn on that little air thing above her. Maybe I’m paranoid, but I think it takes power away from the plane somehow. I get mad if people next to me use theirs.
    “Sister, don’t use that, that’s … Dang! Shut it off! I’ll hit ya! Shut it off!!”
    The nun just left to find a different seat. Some people are so touchy. I’m sure she didn’t learn that little hand gesture in her convent, either.
    As scary as this flight is, it’s nothing compared to those tiny Buddy Holly planes that I’ve had to fly in to get to different stand-up performances. Oh God, those little propeller planes, those little eight-seater tiny planes where you can actually see the pilots in the cockpit. They’re reading through some manuals like
So You Want to Be a Pilot
. They’re just flipping through the pamphlet trying to figure out which buttons to push to land the plane.
    I’ve got to relax somehow. Why didn’t I think of this sooner? I’ll recline my seat. Oh, that makes all the difference. That ¾ of an inch between upright and reclined is the difference between agony and ecstasy. I never thought ¾ of an inch could mean so much.
Now
I can sleep. When I get home, I’m going to put some gizmo in my chairs so that they go back ¾ of an inch, too. I wouldn’t overdo it like the guy sitting in front of me. His seat goes so far back that his head is practically in my lap. I can pretty much read his newspaper.
    I’d better not get too comfortable in my ¾ of an inch recline because toward the end of the flight, the flightattendant is going to say, “You’re going to have to put your seat in the upright position for landing.” They’re so adamant about that every single time, like that’s gonna make a difference. Because if we crash, the investigators are going to say, “Oh, that’s a shame, her seat was reclined ¾ of an inch. When will they learn? What was that—thirty thousand feet? She could have made that. Sheesh. If only she’d been upright.”
    Being reclined isn’t working. I’m still freaking out. I know what I need. “Oh, flight attendant. Oh, ma’am.” You have to talk nice to the flight attendants because they’re all arrogant little bitches. Unless, of course, you happen to be a flight attendant or are related to or are friends with one—then you are the absolutely lovely exceptions to this rule. But the rest of them, they have this attitude. And they can afford to have the attitude, because they have the power—they have the peanuts.
    They have these six peanuts that we need. Six peanuts. Somebody could offer that to you on the street, and you’d say, “I don’t want that shit—get that away from me. Six peanuts? No-oh.” Somehow they’ve done research. They know that the higher we go, the more we need nuts. And we go crazy if we don’t get them.
    “Miss, I didn’t get my, uh—my peanuts. And I’d really appreciate it if you gave me some. They’re good, aren’t they? I’ve never been able to get them on the ground either. At least not ones this good. Thank you. Oh, thank you.”
    Fuck, what was that! “We’re going to crash!” Oops, false alarm. It’s just the food cart coming down the aisle.
    I think they only give you six peanuts so that you don’t spoil your appetite for the disgusting meal that’s soon to follow. You never hear anybody say, “You know, I can’t finish