One thing I have to say I really like about living in Seattle — it’s part of the Lower 48. I’ve got forty-eight states I can get to within a few days without ever having to set foot on an airplane (49, if I make the time to drive the Al-Can).
I’ve mentioned before that I seem to have developed something of a fear of flying ever since a particularly turbulent flight into Anchorage a few years back. It’s not entirely rational, but then, rationality doesn’t really seem to enter into it when I’m trapped in a multi-ton metal tube a few thousand feet in the air that’s shaking me around like one of James Bond’s martinis.
So then, what do I in my infinite wisdom do? I go and read articles about what happens during explosive decompression (“ROOF FLIES OFF!”).
A blown-out door can be perilous for pressurized aircraft at high altitudes. In 1989, the lower cargo door on a United Airlines passenger jet became unlatched at about 23,000 feet. The sudden and explosive loss of pressure tore open a portion of the cabin—nine passengers were sucked out through the large hole, along with their seats and the floor around them.
The year before, a Boeing 737 operated by Aloha Airlines experienced an “explosive decompression” at 24,000 feet. An 18-foot portion of the roof of the cabin ripped off, and a flight attendant standing in the aisle was ejected from the plane.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
I need to go find a happy place now.
“Mutilate” by Front 242 from the album 06:21:03:11 Up Evil (1993, 4:10).