“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot says.
This is bad for two reasons. In the first place, we are being addressed by the pilot in the departure lounge before boarding the plane. Pilots don’t just drop out to chit chat with the masses before a flight.
This means trouble.
Secondly, the physical appearance of the pilot is disturbing. Pilots should be invisible geniuses with soothing, trustworthy voices whose only goal in life is to keep me alive. I have a similar rule regarding doctors and their fingernail grooming. Since the voice is the only quality I have to judge a pilot with, I have become an obsessive student of their voices and analyze their phonetic qualities.
A high-pitched voice with a wavering lilt betrays a pilot’s inability to maintain a relationship with another human being. A voice that is overly deep and manly tells me that the pilot needs to fly an airplane to substitute for another lacking physical feature. Any grammatical errors are unforgivable and force me to create a biography riddled with felonies.
Pilots are among the three professions wherein the only acceptable voice is a baritone with a light southern twang. The other two are democratic U.S presidents and high-ranking military officials.
The pilot continues. “I am afraid that we have a small mechanical problem, but at the most we are looking at a two hour delay. Our highest priority are your safety, so we need to just check out a thing or two.” This pilot’s voice is soft and carries a northeastern U.S accent. “It shouldn’t be long, so why not take a walk and get a drink and come back in half an hour and check on the status. We should be ready to go in just a bit.”
The problem with this pilot’s voice isn’t the voice itself, it’s the fact that it’s cracking. This tells every passenger one terrible truth:
Everything I am saying is a euphemism for something far worse.
A “small mechanical problem” means that they are trying to duct tape one of the wheels back on. A two hour delay and get a drink mean “We aren’t going anywhere, anytime soon, so please grab your ankles and enjoy a $9.50 bottle of beer.” And “check on the status” means come back later when I’m back, invisible in the cockpit and bitch at someone who isn’t me.”
My $9.50 beer is a Molson Canadian and while drinking it I punish the pilot for his grammatical error. His rap sheet includes public nudity and flashing. With my second $9.50 beer, it’s bestiality.
