A Philosopher's Blog

Flying

Posted in Uncategorized by Michael LaBossiere on September 18, 2015

There is a popular belief that Mohawks have no fear of heights. Though part Mohawk, I apparently did not get the part that is fearless about heights: I am terrified of heights. But, I believe a person should not be ruled by fear and so never let that fear control me. This explains how I ended up falling off the roof and tearing my quadriceps tendon, thus showing that too much philosophy can bust you up. For those not familiar with this important body part, it is that tendon that allows one to do such things as stand and walk. But, I digress—time to leave the subject of falling and get on with the topic at hand.

This fear of heights applies to flying—as soon as I buy my tickets, I start experiencing a sense of dread. In the past, my rather masochistic coping method was to get a window seat and force myself to stare downwards at the ever more distant earth. I got this approach from Aristotle, the stoics and running: one becomes what one does, attitude matters a great deal, and the way to learn to endure pain is to face that pain. While I still dislike heights, the fear is now “at distance”—it is, to use a metaphor, as if I am looking at it from a great height. So, while too much philosophy can bust one up, it can also provide a useful theoretical foundation for weird coping mechanisms. And some say that philosophy is useless.

These days my main dislike of flying is that the process, at least for most of us, is unpleasant. In the United States, we are forced into bit parts in the security theater. Shoes must be removed, forcing us to shuffle along in socks (or barefoot) which feels just a bit humiliating.  It is as if we are bad children who might track dirt into the pristine airport. Next is the body scan—which is apparently useless because I am always patted down anyway after the scan. But, perhaps people really cannot resist running their hands over my awesome bod. Or a look like a criminal. With an awesome bod.

Then there is the ritual of getting dressed again—shoes on, belt on, watch back on, wallet back in the pocket and so on. Sort of a wham, bam, thank you Sam sort of situation. Some folks do get to bypass some of the process—those willing to shuck out some extra cash and time getting checked by the state. I call this process theater for the obvious reason that it is theater—the security can be easily bypassed and seems based on the principle that discomforting and humiliating people will make them feel safer. That said, I have friends and relatives in the TSA and think well of them—they are good people. The system, which they do not control, is another matter.

While I usually fly Delta, I suspect most airlines have a similar boarding process. Like an oppressive state, Delta has a very rigid class system that governs one’s privileges and one’s abuse. While folks with special needs get to go first, after that there are various distinct groups—these seemed to be named on the basis of precious substances like diamonds, gold and quatloos. I assume this is because to get in those groups one must have an adequate supply of diamonds or gold.

Back in the day, boarding early was not much of a privilege: one just got to sit in the plane longer. However, when airlines started charging people for luggage, getting on early became rather important. When everyone is trying to bring on as much as possible as carryon luggage, getting on the plane early can make the difference between jamming that giant rolling “carry on” into the overhead or having it subject to the tender mercies of baggage handling. Interestingly, airlines have started offering to check large carryon luggage for free when flights are crowded—their solution to the problem created by charging for checked luggage is to offer free checked luggage. I suspect that this creates some sort of paradox and that Christopher Nolan will include it in his next movie. There also seems to be a prestige associated with boarding early—folks who can afford the Royal Secret Diamond Elite Magic Flyer level can presumably afford to pay for checked luggage (though they often seem well-laden with carryon luggage as well).

First class, as the name implies, also enjoys better treatment: they have larger seats, get to board early, and generally have better snacks and drinks. They also seem to get special treatment: while the boarding of my last flight was underway, the stewardess had to delay the progress of the little people (coach class) to bring beverages to two folks in first class. We waited there, holding our carryon luggage, until she brought them their drinks and returned. I waited for her—she was just doing her job. I was not very happy with the first class folks—it is a bit classless to hold up boarding because one cannot wait a few minutes for a drink.

On the plus side, the time spent waiting for the better folks to receive their drinks gave me time to apply some pseudo-Marxism to the oppressive class system of the airlines. Since I lack Marx’s writing chops, the best slogan I could come up with was “flyers of the world unite! You have nothing to lose but your cramped seats and comically limited overhead space!” I am certainly looking forward to the classless utopia of the future in which each person is seated according to her size and pays in accord with how much crap she brings on the plane. Plus booze for everyone.

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5 Responses

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  1. Quote for the day | Civil Commotion said, on September 18, 2015 at 8:32 am

    […] Michael LaBossiere, Philosophy Professor […]

  2. TJB said, on September 19, 2015 at 11:15 am

    A roof is far more dangerous place than a commercial airliner.

    This fact was amazingly tucked into “Being and Time” p. 223.

  3. nailheadtom said, on September 19, 2015 at 11:35 am

    How far would the state have to go in making something like air transportation completely obnoxious before people would explore alternatives? What if they required a security conversation with passengers as El Al often does? Maybe a letter of reference from the local police department? A passport? A clean bill of health from a psychiatrist? Me, I’ll take the bus.


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