Flying Blind

"Do you want an earlier flight or a later one?" my assistant asked.

I shrugged. "An earlier one, I guess. What time does that get me back?"

"Saturday night, about 7:40."

"7:40? Why so late?"

"You have to change planes in Chicago."

"What if I take the later flight?"

"Then you have to change planes in Dallas."

"I hate changing planes," I said.

"Why?"

"Because it means I have to take off and land again."

"So?"

"I hate that part of flying."

"Do you like the rest of it?"

"No, I hate that too."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to die. At least not that way."

"The odds of a plane crash are so small it's not worth thinking about," she told me.

"Thank you, Little Miss Actuary."

"Seriously, why be afraid of something that unlikely to hurt you?"

"You were afraid of my lunch at the Chinese restaurant," I said.

"You ordered jellyfish," she said.

"I know," I said. "It was delicious."

"I wasn't afraid, I was repulsed," she said.

"Well, I'm repulsed by plane crashes," I replied.

She thought about my reasoning for a minute and then gave up.

"Anyway, you big baby, do you want the early or later flight?"

"Which one is T. on?" I asked. T.'s my colleague.

"He doesn't care," she said.

"Put us on the same one," I said.

"I can't."

"How come?"

"It's an organizational policy."

"What is?"

"You two can't be on the same plane."

"Why not?"

"In case it crashes."