I Can Say “Bomb” On An Airplane

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Calise Hawkins is a New York based stand up comedian. She has appeared Comedy Central’s Russell Simmon’s Presents… and was featured on NBC’s Last Comic Standing. She frequently travels by train from Jersey City to all five boroughs of New York City. To pass the time, she writes funny, stream of consciousness tangents about her commute, directly from her 2009 Sidekick LX while in transit. This is…Tangents in Transit.

Me: What’s this back seating area?

Pilot: Well we drop that end off over Cleveland.

Me: Hahaha…so you just bomb that section off?

Me again: GASP!!!

Pilot: You’re supposed to say IED…we IED it off.

Every since watching that Ben Stiller movie where he says “bomb bomb bomb…bomb bomb buh bomb” and gets thrown off an airplane, I have been terrified of saying that word on a plane and suffering the same fate. But this off duty pilot took it in stride, knowing that it was said in the context of a joke. Possibly a flirtation, because I’m very attracted to calm older men that can make me laugh. And if he plays peek-a-boo with me, it will heal old wounds.

My gratitude that he didn’t overreact made him even more handsome. He’s fly like a G-6. But now he is flirting with the flight attendant and I am a distant afterthought. These pilots on these planes have so much swag. From what I have heard they get a lot of action too. All that traveling and the excessive amount of women they meet. Maybe there’s something about the altitude that makes women more vulnerable. Yes, a combination of the altitude and the pilot having all those lives in his hands. Subsequent hotel sex is just an expression of appreciation. “Thank you for not crashing the plane with me in it.” Then you offer him your landing strip. You don’t have to be a mile high to join the club. Not when you bang a pilot.

I haven’t gotten completely comfortable with flying. I always text at least one boy “I still love you” before the plane takes off. Just in case I die I wanna ruin somebody’s day. I have this fantasy that when the reporter interviews family and friends, I will receive more coverage if I give them a “love lost” storyline. I don’t want the simultaneous death of two hundred other people to overshadow mine, making me an extra on Channel 5 news. Maybe I should text something even more compelling, like, “when I get back, I am going to give you that kidney you always wanted.” I just have to figure out what I would say if I survived. “Sorry, I sent that text to the wrong number.” That’s what I say when I accidentally text a booty call to the wrong guy. Which, by the way, needs to be updated to Booty Text. Nobody calls anymore. You call if you wanna creep a girl out. Otherwise just be a gentleman and send a penis pic.

I can’t seem to get my mind out of the gutter. When I am in a captive situation, especially a scary one, my mind always jumps to the game “who would you do?” Maybe get a little passenger seat action under those thin blue airplane covers they hand out? Why are those things so thin? It is freezing cold on the plane, and I look over and there are people who are actually turning their air sockets on full blast. I’m glad I brought my scarf because there’s no way I can be protected by this oversized dinner napkin they call a blanket. Maybe that’s why people have sex on planes. Survival body heat.

I should be sleeping, but the in-flight movie is so good and so free that I must stay up and watch it. They’re playing “The King’s Speech.” Interesting. They censor the curses out of the movie. There’s a scene when the future King repeatedly says “fuck,” but the film goes silent. I guess you can’t even drop the f-bomb on an airplane.

Security: Sir, you can’t drop the f-bomb on an airplane.

Ben Stiller: Fuck fuck fuck, fuck fuck fuh-fuck.

Fast forward to my return flight- I’m trying to sneak all of my hair products through security. The guy searches my luggage and gives me a look when he finds a full bottle of Herbal Essence mousse. He says, “You have to get those little travel containers and put it in there.” I proceed to emphatically explain how mousse works, with the visual results looking like I planned to blow up the plane with hazardous liquids.

Me: “No, that’s not how mousse works” (shaking my head and flailing my arms to indicate “no”).

Me: “When you spray the mousse” (mimicking shaking bottle and pulling trigger)….”it foams up really big….(miming a huge explosion with my hands)…and then it fizzles down to nothing” (small unmistakable hand gestures of how I will take the whole plane down and disintegrate it into nothingness, praise Osama).

I will tell you one thing. The airline security is doing a damn good job of protecting the country from me looking cute. Hopefully one day soon, I will have the money to check my bag. But first, I’ve got to “blow up”!!!

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