Peenie Wallie

If you’ve ever wondered what it is like to be on a plane when it loses cabin pressure six miles above the Earth, I can tell you it’s no picnic. One night in the late summer of 2003, I was flying Frontier Airlines Flight 214 non-stop from Denver to Austin. Just as we got up to cruising altitude, the plane unexpectedly began to descend in an ear-popping dive. The blood left my feet and rose into my face. No one made a sound. The intercom was silent. The plane began to plummet.

The plane banked, and began a sharp turn to port, as it continued to drop from the sky. The Boeing began to bounce…turbulence?

The passengers were praying like sinners in church. Everyone was looking around, but no one had answers in their eyes. Just that “deer-in-the-headlights” look. Confusion. Fear.

The flight attendant walked quickly up the aisle to the cockpit. She stopped at the closed cockpit door and did a secret knock on the reinforced, locked door.

Three sharp, loud knocks, separated by about one point two seconds each. The door opened and the flight attendant disappeared into the cockpit.

The other flight attendant was jabbering rapidly into a phone, strapped securely into her jump-seat. My ears were popping. Every time I cleared them, after another minute or two, I’d need to clear them again. Thirty minutes after liftoff, the flight attendant came on the intercom:

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are losing pressure. We have turned around and we are going back to Denver. The air masks are going to drop. Do not be alarmed, but we are losing pressure.”

I overheard the flight attendant saying into the cockpit “No…they haven’t dropped yet. I don’t know why.” What’s worse than losing cabin pressure at cruising altitude? Losing pressure at cruising altitude, and not having the masks drop down automatically, like they’re supposed to. They always tell you they’ll drop, but if they don’t, you’re in a tight spot, because you can’t reach up there and feel around for them. Not without a crowbar, anyway.

Suddenly, everyone in the cabin was talking or anxiously awaiting their turn to talk. Some whispered. Some talked out loud. The flight began to deteriorate. The plane bumped and weaved as it dove, and entered yet another sharp turn. A loud hiss of rushing air erupted from the front of the plane, and silenced the spectators. The air grew stale. It was harder to breathe. Where were the oxygen masks? Why wouldn’t they drop? The flight attendants were walking around and smiling, calm as Hindu cows. They were trying to keep people from panicking, answering questions, staggering through the aisle, struggling to stand up. People were holding hands. Praying. Saying Hail Mary’s. Holding coffee cups over their ears. Over the din of the cabin, the loud rushing hiss of air droned on. The flight attendants stayed on their feet somehow, deliberately braced betwixt the overhead bins.

The pilot came on the intercom for the first time.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We’re doing fine. We’re going to be landing in Denver. Everything will be OK. Nothing to be alarmed about right now. We’re going to descend to a lower altitude. There is a pressurization problem with the aircraft. Everything is normal for right now. Should be on the ground in Denver in 15 minutes. The fire-trucks will follow us as a safety precaution. Any time we have to return, they do this for us. Don’t be alarmed. We’ll be on the ground shortly.”

I had no doubt that we’d be “on the ground shortly”. I was just wondering if we’d survive the impact.

They shut down the airport and cleared us for an emergency landing. Our landing was uneventful, and the cabin erupted into applause after we safely touched down. The fire-trucks chased us down the runway. Us going a hundred and fifty in a Boeing 737. Them going thirty-five in four-axle foam fire-trucks.

In the hazy euphoria of our escape from a potential catastrophe, people looked around at each other and smiled. We were all glad to be alive, and every person couldn’t help but feel that they’d cheated death. At the airport, they had another plane waiting for us at the adjacent gate with complimentary drinks, but some people decided to that they didn’t need to get to Austin that badly. As we raced down the tarmac and lifted off in the new jet before a waning sunset, I couldn’t help but wonder if they’d had an epiphany that was beyond my comprehension.

Note: These graphics are from the movie "Fight Club".