Planes

Whenever I fly anywhere, I inevitably end up having the same thoughts.

Upon take-off and whenever we hit moderate to severe turbulence, I make peace with the possibility that this might be the end for me. 

When we are making our approach towards landing, I always try to judge at what point we could crash but probably still survive.

As people are boarding, I check my fellow passengers for people who seem like they might be cool to live with on a mysterious island.

I get annoyed that the flight attendants give me something to drink and then come to collect trash before I'm done and then never come back so I'm stuck trying to figure out what to do with my cup that still has ice in it after they tell us we have to put our tray tables up. Every. Time.

Then I play the 'fart or weird food' game where I try to identify the smell. 

Could be Mexican food, could be noxious gas.

And on every flight I am confused by the people who don't bring anything to keep themselves occupied.

No book. No laptop. No magazines. 

They don't listen to music. They aren't trying to sleep.

They just sit.

And sometimes, even worse, they try to talk to me.

Or they just sit in silence, sometimes looking over at what I am reading and making me feel slightly guilty for not talking to them. Like I'm specifically ignoring them.

Did you not know that this flight was going to happen? Were you not prepared to travel? Was this a last minute decision you made?

Or did you get on this plane fully intending to make a new friend and spend the flight getting to know them.

On my most recent trip, two men, who appeared to be complete strangers, talked about time-shares and where they've traveled for their businesses for 3 hours.

Three hours.

Why?