Maybe We Can Get Used to Socialism, After All: We Fly

When I was a child, fliers were captivated by pilots and their domain of the air: the commercial airline. Throughout history, the evolution of flying has been one of remarkable changes. I recall being on numerous flights as a child and being led into the cockpit by the pilot himself. A proud man, an experienced man, one of several years most often, if I recall. The experience was ideal. Children would sit in the aisle of an airplane with the very relatable stewardesses, more than often beautiful young women. Little packets of 'flight kits' were divied out to children and adults alike, socks, sleeping masks, activity books, crayons and snacks were available in abundance. Drinks were served once, twice, three, even four times and meals were gourmet versions of microwavable dinners. People were curteous, babies were miraculously quiet. Old men were never grumpy (one man was even puked on and didn't even so much as gripe), and conversations with fellow fliers were always enlightening.

Now, nearly 15 years later, flights are eerily similar to the socialist societies from the future. George Orwell may not have been so far off after all.

We arrive at a large, immigration or emmigration center where we are immediately over-charged for our personal belongings, if we wish to hold on to them. Very tight security is run in all corridors, cameras seem to observe our every move. We operate based on guarantees. We trust well knowing that guarantees are not stone-set promises. Our bags may or may not arrive. Our belongings may or may not be seized. They travel on mysterious belts disappearing behind walls until we hope to see them again. We willingly turn over thousands of dollars worth of equipment, clothing and commodities under the presupposition that they will be well taken care of.

Representatives guide our every move to our destination, our gate of choice. All the while the cameras pivoting to watch us. Because we are a potential threat. We are free thinking, so we might do something erratic. Something unexpected. The trust is gone. We wait in line to be examined extensively before we can enter the public domain of the terminal. The same security officials who checked us at the door show us through inspection devices and nod their head in admittance if we pass their tests.

The terminal is a wonderful place, filled with compelling literature, exquisite food, exclusive clubs and grossly overpriced products. Selection is limited to the subjects, food and goods that the administration allows. Everyone is subject to the same stipulations and periodic screenings. Giant billboards display the information for everyone to abide by. Where you should be and at what time. Communication with the outside world is limited.

This is all before you are able to enter the airline plane itself. In order to gain access to this inner area, it is required that you show the proper identification and papers showing you have paid the correct dues. When you enter the plane, you will be lucky to be shown to your seat by an already bitter stewardess. Most of the times your last few bags will be added to the bulk of cargo below. The space is small, cramped and reminiscient of a 'let's transport as many people as possible in the smallest craft possible' event in history I won't allude to. The lucky flights are fed, but from a constricted selection of now worse-than microwaved food. Bathrooms are available for one flier at a time, but it requires the ever-embarrasing trip to and from the back of the plane. Chairs should never be leaned back, even though they carry the feature to make you feel as though you are free to do so. Upon take-off, everyone must conform their seats and belts to the upright and fastened positions. From this moment on, no communication with anyone outside of your proximity is allowed. A button is available to summon the stewardess who has unfortunately already run out of blankets, pillows and any other commodities you might need.

And above all, the mysterious voice that periodically drops in and updates on the current conditions in an unnerving way is in complete control. Thank goodness for that, because they are the only ones who truly know how to operate the mechanism. They are the experts. After all, they have completed flight school. Which gives them the authority to fly the plane.

I'm not saying flying is all bad. I still very much enjoy the experience. But it has changed. And our world is changing to. Just hopefully not in this way.