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                On the long flight to Eastern Europe three weeks ago for Shirley’s birthday trip, I had an experience I will never forget.  For those of you who think that way, yes, it did involve beautiful Swiss and German stewardesses and, yes, I was sweating and breathing hard; however, it was from fear.  I had the most terrifying flight of my life and Shirley slept through it.

I have trouble with the wifi in my house from my office to the kitchen, so how could I get a signal up here, 35,000 miles above everybody’s kitchen?  Believing it to be a mistake, I turned the machine off and restarted it.  There it was, the same wifi signal.

Could I have tapped into a satellite?  Who, me, sitting in row 17 seat D?  Not a chance.  Could it be from below? Hardly!  So the only conclusion I could come to was that it was a signal generated from somewhere in or on the giant 747 we were in.

All the lights were off, most everyone was asleep, including Shirley, and I could not find a flight attendant to ask if I could use the wifi from the airplane to pick up my email.  I figured that this must have been a new service the airline was offering, and I was pleased.  And then it happened.

I looked at the name of the wifi device that was transmitting the signal to my machine – bombolong.  Oh my God!  I stuffed my napkin in my mouth to muffle the screaming.  Bombolong!  What kind of a name is that?  There could only be one explanation – the bomb aboard the plane was sending out signals and when it received the final time-coded transmission – boom!  We would be celebrating Shirley’s birthday with her parents and my dad somewhere above our current altitude.  We were goners for sure.

As soon as I could wipe the tears from my eyes, my thumb became fused with the emergency button.  Very quickly a stunning foreign stewardess came to my seat and was able to pry my hand off the button.

“I would like you to ask the captain if we all can get off this airplane as soon as possible.” I requested. 

Now, I know she would have been laughing if she had not noticed the tears streaming down my checks and the “Last Will and Testament” on the screen of my computer.

“Calm down and tell me what is the problem,” she said politely.

“Look at this,” I choked out, pointing to the wifi name on the screen.  I asked her how could there be wifi up here; it had to be on the plane, and look at the name of the device sending the signal.  She said it was nothing to worry about and that she would ask the purser.  Another attendant came and I repeated the story, pointing to the lighted evidence on my screen.

Then a steward came and again I explained the story.  They all said they would notify the captain.  It is really hard to finish a last will with tears dripping on your keyboard, and your hands trembling as you type.

To make a long story short, the captain notified headquarters in Frankfurt.  They had no clue what the signal was or where it came from.  I turned back to my typing and, just like that, the mysterious wifi signal disappeared. Seven members of the crew came over to my seat and tried to comfort me, telling me that since the captain wasn’t nervous, neither were they.

As we prepared to land, Shirley turned to me and asked, “Did you sleep at all?”

“NO!” I said to her, “I will tell you about it later.” 

Why should I ruin the view of her birthday gift from God … the runway.

About the Author - Barry Pascal, our recently deposed Honorary Sheriff and formerly overthrown Honorary Mayor owned Northridge Pharmacy for 32 years and is now retired.  He has written seven comedy books and writes a humorous column for the California Pharmacists Association Journal.  He is currently under therapy for an alarmist personality and an over-active imagination.

© Barry Pascal 2008