it always gives me a sinking feeling to know that Swiss Air 110/111 that I considereed to be my lucky plane went down. 110/111 was my first international flight, was the plane where my husband proposed to me, was the plane that shuttled me to and from my home in NYC to Geneva where I worked, then one morning, voila, as I drove my friend to the airport and brought his dog home with me, voila, the phone call that tells me his flight has been delayed because of some technical difficulty, then another wrong, an update-- no, the plane is missing. What do you mean the plane is missing? The plane can't be found, it disappeared.... we waited, then another call, he's crying and telling us the airline thinks the plane went down somewhere around Halifax. Couldn't be certain... then for a week, all of Geneva is in grief. These kinds of things don't happen.
My plane had a terrible game system that was built into the pop out table top where people put their cheese and crackers. You'd try to answer trivia games, then it would spook out and take you to another level, but it would pass the hours of graveyard flying.
Because that was my lucky plane, I saved its napkins and salt pepper shaker ensemble, it's crazy to think I did that, what was I thinking? but I suppose, if there is anything about a law of averages, at least I can take comfort in knowing I won't die in a plane crash?
all those flight attendents were really the sweetest. honest. they spoke on average of three to five languages, so amiable, so attentive, nothing about them rushed. God bless their memories. May their sould be at peace, may their families heal.
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