I don’t often find myself in three-abreast seating on an airliner, but on a recent trip to Las Vegas, Nevada, it was unavoidable. So there I was in a window seat with a white-knuckled woman seated next to me and her macho husband on the aisle.
As the airplane accelerated for takeoff, the wife clutched her husband’s hand in abject fear. I could tell this wasn’t going to be a fun flight. Normally I wouldn’t have said anything, but I felt the need to try to soothe her mounting terror. “In a minute,” I said, “you’ll hear a noise as the gear are tucked away. It’s perfectly normal.”
