i’m not a great flier.

julie warshaw, julie warsawI’m sure I’m not a great printed pamphlet either, but in this case, I’m talking specifically about my overall, not-good performance as an airplane passenger. I start getting crippling anxiety days before the scheduled flight. As I approach TSA, I become convinced that some drug paraphernalia is floating around my luggage a la Broke Down Palace (which I’ve never seen). By the time I make it through security, the Klonopin I took while waiting for my Uber kicks in and my fear emerges from its cocoon of anxiety, a beautiful, irritated butterfly. I immediately head to the nearest over-priced airport supplies kiosk and load up on the loudest, smelliest food I can find – preferably tuna salad and garlic chips – because misery loves company and heaven forbid anyone within a 5 seat radius of me have a pleasant flight either. Once my group is called to board, I drag my barely carry-on sized suitcase up the aisle, knocking elbows right and left, hoist it into the overhead compartment where it occupies the space of two suitcases, and then settle down with my loud, smelly food to watch comedy and rain tuna-scented belly laughs on my seat mates.

I may have to fly to Asia for work. Wondering if I’ll be held liable when a tuna-fueled, Lord of the Flies situation erupts somewhere over the North Pole.