falling horizontally

of all the common phobias to experience through simulation, plunging in an airplane tailspin would be one of the most dramatic, if not traumatic. plastic spiders or confined spaces may trigger anxiety, but a full throttle nosedive reenactment might produce soiled skivvies. personally, when i'm taxied on the tarmac towards the runway, i struggle to suppress visions of the 'lost' pilot or 'alive'.

arriving at a warehouse for a production entitled 'mayday' tipped me off to my extraordinary day's work. appearing as an abandoned piece of wreckage was the front half of an aircraft, surrounded by electricians busily imitating lighting conditions for nighttime flight. this scene would depict details from an actual crash, which took place in the early '80s. thus, i was chosen to dress in a stylish white turtleneck and grey blazer, to match my horrendously brushed hair.

the plane interior appropriately reflected the era. with no personal screen built in to the headrest, i was reminded how if one didn't bring reading material on board, the safety manual would be the sole distraction. thankfully, current colour schemes and patterns are more neutral than the flamboyant eye sores of old. other than the visual differences from a bygone decade, the seats still offered a relaxing holding pattern. in fact, since the quiet cabin was dimly lit for night travel, i promptly settled into slumber.

suddenly, i was thrust into consciousness by a voice screaming 'BANG!' and powerful compressed air that was shot across my face. from peaceful snoozing to a living nightmare, my reaction was authentic, perfectly capturing the horror the passengers would have endured. without warning to brace myself for all hell breaking loose, the virtual intense chaos instantly elevated my blood pressure. napkins and headrest fabrics flew through the cabin, past dangling oxygen masks and luggage dropping from overhead compartments. lights flickered and ladies screamed, supporting a surreal approximation of a plane in peril.

my disoriented state of terror dissolved when the flight attendant awkwardly performed a gymnastics back roll past my seat, indicating propulsion. her genuine commitment appeared farcical in light of a stable level aisle, but as a consummate performer myself, i delved into my role by shielding my extreme expression from airborne debris.

crew dude with phallic air cannon

thirty seconds later, the pandemonium had subsided as swiftly as it began, papers and people drifted to the seats and floor. a fortunate outcome, this simple settling of elements into silence, rather than actual impact. crew members dispersed through the aftermath, resetting props and restoring the condition to pre-collision. i restored my tousled hair to its stylish glory, and adjusted my disheveled blazer and armrest fabric.

the mock bedlam would transpire four times more, but i was prepared for the onslaught at that point. by the fifth sequence, i practically yawned while my character was spiralling into oblivion. i was so over the phobia.