by Paul Merton
“White lights lead to red lights”—keep this favorite Zen koan of Captain Slatt in mind as the red light will indicate that you have reached or are near an emergency exit. If, that is, the red light is on.
OXYGEN:
Cabin pressure is controlled for your comfort. However, it may not be to everyone’s comfort. North American Airways is mandated to maintain an air supply containing at least 18% oxygen (which may present difficulties for passengers with weak respiratory systems, asthma, extreme anxiety, or expectations of air with a minimum of 21% oxygen which is the “civilian norm”). Should the air pressure change radically in flight, which will happen at times, unpredictably, though at other times predictably, compartments are designed to automatically open in the panel above your head. In the event of this emergency simply reach up—calmly!—and pull the mask to your face. Do not snatch at the mask desperately for masks made of flimsy materials have been known to “shred” in such situations.
Once the mask is on your face, oxygen should begin to flow.
In the event that oxygen does not “flow” you may simply be, as Captain Slatt says, “out of luck”; or, if so minded, you may try to inveigle your seat mate into surrendering his or her mask, quickly before oxygen deprivation sets in and you begin to hallucinate.
Or, to raise the probability of your oxygen flowing unimpeded, you may purchase our OxFloLifeSave feature for just $400. (Airflight staff will move among you to take orders now. Please raise your hands if you are interested in signing up for OxFloLifeSave rather than take your chances with “economy oxygen.”)
Once you have firmly seized your mask place it carefully over your mouth and nose and secure with the elastic band as your flight attendant is demonstrating. Next, tighten by pulling on both ends of the elastic bands—not too hard, and not too hesitantly. In situations of chaos and terror “he who hesitates is lost”—but also, paradoxically, as Captain Slatt cautions, “he who acts impulsively is lost as well.” Even though oxygen is flowing, at least in theory, the plastic bag may not inflate. This is estimated to occur in approximately 27% of aircraft emergency situations and it is just unfortunate! If you are traveling with children, or are seated next to someone who needs assistance, this is bad luck for them since you’re obviously having enough trouble trying to secure your mask to your own face, and to breathe without hyperventilating; you certainly have no time for anyone else.
Warning: pure oxygen can be deleterious to the human brain, causing hallucinations, convulsions, black-outs, or stroke. Thus, while you should breathe deeply through your oxygen mask, you should not breathe too deeply.
Continue breathing through the mask until advised by a uniformed crewmember to remove it. Do not—repeat: do not— surrender your oxygen mask to any individual who requests it if he or she is not in easily recognizable North American Airways uniform.
LIFE VEST:
Your life vest is located in a pouch beneath your seat. You may locate it now, to give yourself a “sense of security.”
Should life vest use become necessary, remove your vest from the plastic packet as efficiently as possible, using both fingernails and incisors as required, but do not— repeat: do not—paw desperately at the packet which has been made toughly “childproof” for the protection of our youngest passengers.
Once you have succeeded in tearing open the packet remove the life vest by using both hands, with a firm tug; slip the vest over your (lowered) head and pull smartly downward on the front panel with both hands exerting equal pressure. (Do not favor your strong hand over your weak hand as this may interfere with the operation of the life vest.) Next, bring the strap around your waist and insert it into the buckle on the front. (If there is no buckle on the front, you will have to fashion a “buckle” with the fingers and thumb of one hand—use your imagination!) Next, pull on the loose strap until the vest fits snugly—as I am now demonstrating. If you are a “plus-size”—and your life vest does not fit—this is an unfortunate development you should have considered before you purchased your ticket to Amchitka, Alaska!
If you are a “minus-size” and it looks as if you are “drowning” in the life vest— this is very witty of you! You may well be quoted in Friendly Skies Forever! With your oxygen mask and your life vest you are now prepared to attempt to exit the aircraft amid a Dante-esque chaos of flames, boiling black smoke, dangling live electric wires, the screams and pleadings of your fellow passengers—or to, as Captain Slatt says, “walk the walk of Hell.”
As you make your way out of the aircraft, by whatever desperate and improvised means, assuming you have located an exit that is unblocked, do not forget to INFLATE the vest by pulling down firmly on the red tabs. It is very important that you remember to INFLATE the life vest as an uninflated life vest is of no more worth in the choppy seas that await you than a soggy copy of The New York Times would be.
(In some rare cases, if the vest fails to INFLATE by way of the red tabs, it may be orally inflated by a strenuous, superhuman blowing into the inflation tubes at shoulder level, roughly equivalent, it has been estimated, to the effort required to blow up three hundred average-sized party balloons within a few minutes. Good luck with this!) For First Class passengers each vest is equipped with a “rescue light” on the shoulder for night use, which is water-activated by removing the Pull to Light tab located on the battery. In this way your life vest will provide for you a tiny, near-invisible “rescue light” in the choppy shark-infested waters of the nighttime Pacific Ocean.
(It is complicated, isn’t it! Each time we give our life vest demonstration something goes wrong, but it is never the same “something” from one time to another and so we have not the privilege of “learning from our mistakes”!)
“RETURN”:
No Frequent Flyer mileage is available for the “Return Flight 443”—there is no scheduled “Return Flight 443.”
This “No Return” from Amchitka, Alaska is stipulated in the waiver you cheerfully signed before boarding our aircraft without (it seems) having read, or perhaps even seen, the fine print.
APPLICATION:
Some of you are looking alarmed at the possibility of “No Return”—for reasons having to do with the Defense Department s Amchitka Bio-Labs Research Project which covers six hundred acres on the island though not marked on any (nonclassified) map, and which is your destination upon arrival at Amchitka.
Yes, this is a “surprise.” Yes, it is too late to “exit.”
Please note, however: less than 83% of passengers will be taken into custody as subjects in the bio-lab experiments; the remainder of you will be drafted as lab assistants and security staff, for there is considerable employee turnover at Amchitka. Applications for these coveted positions should be filled out as soon as possible, as hiring decisions will be made before our arrival at Amchitka.
Please don’t hesitate to raise your hand if you would like an application.
Note that the application requires a complete resume of education, background, employment, and financial assets. Now is not the time for “false modesty”!
PREPARATION FOR TAKEOFF:
Captain Slatt reports from the cockpit that the “mysterious” technical difficulties the aircraft has been exhibiting since your boarding ninety minutes ago have been deemed solved (at least by Homeland Security) and the aircraft is now ready for takeoff.
Accordingly, all doors have been locked; all SEAT BELTS are in lock mode; attendants, please be seated.
As some of you have discovered it is too late to change your mind about your exotic “birdwatching” expedition to the North Polar region. It was too late, in fact, as soon as you boarded the plane and took your seats. Therefore, please ensure that your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright and stowed positions and all your carry-on items in secure places where they will not fly up suddenly and injure you or your hapless neighbors.
Ladies and gentlemen, we are now prepared to take off. We thank you for choosing North American Airwa
ys. Settle back in your seats, take a deep breath, and enjoy our friendly skies!
JUST A LITTLE ONE
Dorothy Parker
Dorothy Parker (1893–1967) was a New Yorker famous for her hard drinking, stinging repartee and endlessly quotable one-liners. In 1915 one of her poems was purchased by Vanity Fair, and she then went on to work for Vogue and Vanity Fair. In 1925, she began writing for the brand new magazine The New Yorker, establishing a connection that would last for over thirty years. She and her second husband, the actor Alan Campbell, were Oscar-nominated for their screenplay of the movie A Star is Born. Trying to define what humour means to her, Parker wrote, ‘There must be a magnificent disregard of your reader, for if he cannot follow you, there is nothing you can do about it.’
I like this place, Fred. This is a nice place. How did you ever find it? I think you’re perfectly marvelous, discovering a speakeasy in the year 1928. And they let you right in, without asking you a single question. I bet you could get into the subway without using anybody’s name. Couldn’t you, Fred?
Oh, I like this place better and better, now that my eyes are getting accustomed to it. You mustn’t let them tell you this lighting system is original with them, Fred; they got the idea from the Mammoth Cave. This is you sitting next to me, isn’t it? Oh, you can’t fool me. I’d know that knee anywhere.
You know what I like about this place? It’s got atmosphere. That’s what it’s got. If you would ask the waiter to bring a fairly sharp knife, I could cut off a nice little block of the atmosphere, to take home with me. It would be interesting to have for my memory book. I’m going to start keeping a memory book tomorrow. Don’t let me forget.
Why, I don’t know, Fred—what are you going to have? Then I guess I’ll have a highball, too; please, just a little one. Is it really real Scotch? Well, that will be a new experience for me. You ought to see the Scotch I’ve got home in my cupboard; at least it was in the cupboard this morning—it’s probably eaten its way out by now. I got it for my birthday. Well, it was something. The birthday before, all I got was a year older.
This is a nice highball, isn’t it? Well, well, well, to think of me having real Scotch; I’m out of the bush leagues at last. Are you going to have another one? Well, I shouldn’t like to see you drinking all by yourself, Fred. Solitary drinking is what causes half the crime in the country. That’s what’s responsible for the failure of prohibition. But please, Fred, tell him to make mine just a little one. Make it awfully weak; just cambric Scotch.
It will be nice to see the effect of veritable whisky upon one who has been accustomed only to the simpler forms of entertainment. You’ll like that, Fred. You’ll stay by me if anything happens, won’t you? I don’t think there will be anything spectacular, but I want to ask you one thing, just in case. Don’t let me take any horses home with me. It doesn’t matter so much about stray dogs and kittens, but elevator boys get awfully stuffy when you try to bring in a horse. You might just as well know that about me now, Fred. You can always tell that the crash is coming when I start getting tender about Our Dumb Friends. Three highballs, and I think I’m St. Francis of Assisi.
But I don’t believe anything is going to happen to me on these. That’s because they’re made of real stuff. That’s what the difference is. This just makes you feel fine. Oh, I feel swell, Fred. You do too, don’t you? I knew you did, because you look better. I love that tie you have on. Oh, did Edith give it to you? Ah, wasn’t that nice of her? You know, Fred, most people are really awfully nice. There are dam few that aren’t pretty fine at heart. You’ve got a beautiful heart, Fred. You’d be the first person I’d go to if I were in trouble. I guess you are just about the best friend I’ve got in the world. But I worry about you, Fred. I do so, too. I don’t think you take enough care of yourself. You ought to take care of yourself for your friends’ sake. You oughtn’t to drink all this terrible stuff that’s around; you owe it to your friends to be careful. You don’t mind my talking to you like this, do you? You see, dear, it’s because I’m your friend that I hate to see you not taking care of yourself. It hurts me to see you batting around the way you’ve been doing. You ought to stick to this place, where they have real Scotch that can’t do you any harm. Oh, darling, do you really think I ought to? Well, you tell him just a little bit of a one. Tell him, sweet.
Do you come here often, Fred? I shouldn’t worry about you so much if I knew you were in a safe place like this. Oh, is this where you were Thursday night? I see. Why, no, it didn’t make a bit of difference, only you told me to call you up, and like a fool I broke a date I had, just because I thought I was going to see you. I just sort of naturally thought so, when you said to call you up. Oh, good Lord, don’t make all that fuss about it. It really didn’t make the slightest difference. It just didn’t seem a very friendly way to behave, that’s all. I don’t know—I’d been believing we were such good friends. I’m an awful idiot about people, Fred. There aren’t many who are really your friend at heart. Practically anybody would play you dirt for a nickel. Oh, yes, they would.
Was Edith here with you, Thursday night? This place must be very becoming to her. Next to being in a coal mine, I can’t think of anywhere she could go that the light would be more flattering to that pan of hers. Do you really know a lot of people that say she’s good-looking? You must have a wide acquaintance among the astigmatic, haven’t you, Freddie, dear? Why, I’m not being any way at all—it’s simply one of those things, either you can see it or you can’t. Now to me, Edith looks like something that would eat her young. Dresses well? Edith dresses well? Are you trying to kid me, Fred, at my age? You mean you mean it? Oh, my God. You mean those clothes of hers are intentional? My heavens, I always thought she was on her way out of a burning building.
Well, we live and learn. Edith dresses well! Edith’s got good taste! Yes, she’s got sweet taste in neckties. I don’t suppose I ought to say it about such a dear friend of yours, Fred, but she is the lousiest necktie-picker-out I ever saw. I never saw anything could touch that thing you have around your neck. All right, suppose I did say I liked it. I just said that because I felt sorry for you. I’d feel sorry for anybody with a thing like that on. I just wanted to try to make you feel good, because I thought you were my friend. My friend! I haven’t got a friend in the world. Do you know that, Fred? Not one single friend in this world.
All right, what do you care if I’m crying? I can cry if I want to, can’t I? I guess you’d cry, too, if you didn’t have a friend in the world. Is my face very bad? I suppose that damned mascara has run all over it. I’ve got to give up using mascara, Fred; life’s too sad. Isn’t life terrible? Oh, my God, isn’t life awful? Ah, don’t cry, Fred. Please don’t. Don’t you care, baby. Life’s terrible, but don’t you care. You’ve got friends. I’m the one that hasn’t got any friends. I am so. No, it’s me. I’m the one.
I don’t think another drink would make me feel any better. I don’t know whether I want to feel any better. What’s the sense of feeling good, when life’s so terrible? Oh, all right, then. But please tell him just a little one, if it isn’t too much trouble. I don’t want to stay here much longer. I don’t like this place. It’s all dark and stuffy. It’s the kind of place Edith would be crazy about—that’s all I can say about this place. I know I oughtn’t to talk about your best friend, Fred, but that’s a terrible woman. That woman is the louse of this world. It makes me feel just awful that you trust that woman, Fred. I hate to see anybody play you dirt I’d hate to see you get hurt. That’s what makes me feel so terrible. That’s why I’m getting mascara all over my face. No, please don’t, Fred. You mustn’t hold my hand. It wouldn’t be fair to Edith. We’ve got to play fair with the big louse. After all, she’s your best friend, isn’t she?
Honestly? Do you honestly mean it, Fred? Yes, but how could I help thinking so, when you’re with her all the time—when you bring her here every night in the week? Really, only Thursday? Oh, I know—I know how those things are. You simply can’t
help it, when you get stuck with a person that way. Lord, I’m glad you realize what an awful thing that woman is. I was worried about it, Fred. It’s because I’m your friend. Why, of course I am, darling. You know I am. Oh, that’s just silly, Freddie. You’ve got heaps of friends. Only you’ll never find a better friend than I am. No, I know that I know I’ll never find a better friend than you are to me. Just give me back my hand a second, till I get this damned mascara out of my eye.
Yes, I think we ought to, honey. I think we ought to have a little drink, on account of our being friends. Just a little one, because it’s real Scotch, and we’re real friends. After all, friends are the greatest things in the world, aren’t they, Fred? Gee, it makes you feel good to know you have a friend. I feel great, don’t you, dear? And you look great, too. I’m proud to have you for a friend. Do you realize, Fred, what a rare thing a friend is, when you think of all the terrible people there are in this world? Animals are much better than people. God, I love animals. That’s what I like about you, Fred. You’re so fond of animals.
Look, I’ll tell you what let’s do, after we’ve had just a little highball. Let’s go out and pick up a lot of stray dogs. I never had enough dogs in my life, did you? We ought to have more dogs. And maybe there’d be some cats around, if we looked. And a horse, I’ve never had one single horse, Fred. Isn’t that rotten? Not one single horse. Ah, I’d like a nice old cab-horse, Fred. Wouldn’t you? I’d like to take care of it and comb its hair and everything. Ah, don’t be stuffy about it, Fred, please don’t. I need a horse, honestly I do. Wouldn’t you like one? It would be so sweet and kind. Let’s have a drink and then let’s you and I go out and get a horsie, Freddie—just a little one, darling, just a little one.