In the event of a water landing

I scored and exit row and a window seat. I’m willing and able in 25a. I get myself settled and construct my tiny private space between the window, bulk head and armrest. My fellow passengers jostle and wiggle themselves into their private spaces. I twist off my shoes without untying them and tuck them under my seat. I feel the guy behind me shuffle his disapproval as this little cubby, technically, is his. It is a full flight and lines are drawn; arm rests, mini-pillows, blue-blankets, palm sized bags of peanuts. A policy of containment cold war style, person to person, seat by seat, row by row. We push private spaces, we protect ours against strangers.

The doors close and we push back from the gate. The aisle seat next to me remains empty. Sweet! I’ve scored the entire two-seat exit row. I’m willing and able in 25a and 25b! I move into the reclining aisle b-seat and spread out my reading, journals, ipod, and computer into the window a-seat next to me. The flight is nearly full but this twist of fortune makes me, for the next five hours, the king of coach.

The flight attendant comes by and asks me if I’m “willing and able” to assist with the emergency door and to help other passengers in the event of an emergency. Almost by reflex I reply that I am. He reaches across and takes out the tri-fold, laminated “For Your Safety” Boeing 767 emergency door and evacuation procedure brochure and information card. He delicately opens and displays it for me.

He gently talks me through the operation of the emergency exit door. With each piece of information he refers me to an image on the laminated brochure. I nod and smile. The door has two handles, one above and one below the little porthole window. They are marked in red. The door has no hinges. This is single-use door. It is not meant to be opened and closed. It is meant to be opened and removed. If I do have to dislocate the door he tells me to first check outside the window for fire or obstructions.

This flight is unique for a domestic American flight; it happens almost entirely over water. Of course many international flights are like this but only flights to Hawaii and Alaska have large chucks over open water. We spend the next three or four minutes talking about what to do in the event of a water landing.

“In the event of a water landing” he points to an illuminated exit sign at my feet. Matter of factly he adds “be sure to check on the water level. If it is above that exit sign you may have trouble removing the door.” He tells not to toss the door outside (I think he has just read my mind) but place the door my seat and then assist passengers onto the wing directly outside my door.

This plane has six life rafts. One of them is directly above me, the king of coach. I saw it when I was the last person on the plane and was searching the overhead compartments for a place for my bag. The life raft is big, bulky, heavy and self-inflating. The flight attendant points out a picture of the raft floating in the water. The plane is in one piece, wings, tail, engines, and fuselage. There is one person in the raft and another person at the end of the wing stepping into the raft. I can see the drawing that represents me in one of the doorways helping a woman and her child out onto the wing. A giant green arrow is super-imposed on the wing directing her to the raft.

I look at the picture.
I look at the wing.
I look at the picture.
I look at the wing.
I look at the flight attendant.
He smiles.
I smile.
“So I need to get the raft out this door too?”
He smiles and nods.

The bulkhead in front of me is carpeted with soothing Hawaiian airlines colors, blue and lavender. Directly in the middle there is a similarly colored round medallion with two footprints, and a slash crossing them. Below them is says, Mahalo! I am the king of coach but I’ve got some responsibilities too. I’ve got to look out for this door, and the passengers and the life raft. And I’ve got to keep my feet off the wall.

I’m not drawn to scale in the saftey brochure. I point this out. He continues to smile. None of us are drawn to scale. We are too big and there are far too few of us in the pictures. They are so spacious. We’ve ample personal space and apparently plenty of time. The water is calm and there is no fire or obstructions. I appear to be doing a great job helping the four people who have come through my 2 foot by 4 foot one-use door. Of course, I’m happy the raft didn’t inflate early while still in the cabin and that the nice man who helped me is now helping others out on the raft. The rendering of me in the picture has no emotions (and dark hair too) but I image I’m happy. I know I’m delighted the other 300 or so passengers have apparently evacuated out the other exits. I’m happy it is all so orderly and the plane is floating so sweetly. I wonder what sort of passed appetizers they are serving on the life rafts.

The flight attendant and I finish our conversation. Captain Scott and first officer Lee report over the intercom from the flight deck. We are first for take-off. A short taxi later and I sink deeper into my seat as the turbines jet into action below me. The nose points off the ground the plane teeters into the air and we are wheels-up headed to Hawaii. I feel the vibrations of the engine in my inner ear as San Bruno, South City, and then Pacifica appear out the window as we climb quickly out over the Pacific ocean and then level off.

I’m aware of the guy behind me, the line to the lavatory, the flight attendants clunking the drink cart from the back of the plane to the front. I look out the window to see the wing and the idling engine divide two blue worlds that meet along a hazy smudge at the horizon.

Mahalo!