4:29 pm: JetBlue pilot announces our descent into JFK. He advises us to buckle up tightly because, due to the approaching nor’easter, it might get a little bumpy.
4:31 pm: Flight anxiety, which is already at a level 7, increases to level 8. I’ve never been a good flyer. Knuckles turn white as I clutch my armrests.
4:32 pm: Bumps begin. Flight anxiety moves to level 9. This is it. I will be dead at age 19 and all they will find inside of me is tequila and the Wendy’s french fries I scarfed down before the flight. Shame sets in.
4:35 pm: Plane lurches sideways. Flight attendant collecting my trash stumbles, a look of fear on her face. Flight anxiety reaches level 10. No one will even get to see my tan at this rate. Life is cruel.
4:36 pm: Plane lurches again. Flight anxiety is off the charts. Suddenly struck by the realization that I may pee my pants.
4:37 pm: Woman sitting next to me, noticing my distress, grabs my left hand and assures me that everything will be ok. Introduces herself as Cynthia from Yonkers. Mentally assign Cynthia the role of nurse in our LOST–esque survival group should the plane go down and strand us on a mysterious island.
4:40 pm: In an effort to take my mind off my impending death, Cynthia makes small talk. Learn that Cynthia has two children: a daughter getting married in September whom she adores, and a son who is “a worthless shit–for–brains.”
4:41 pm: Cynthia asks where I go to school. Reply “Penn.” She says, “Oh, Penn State.”
4:56 pm: With the spirit of Captain Sully guiding him, our pilot successfully lands our Little–JetBlue–That–Could onto the JFK runway. Applause breaks out. Cynthia announces that she can’t wait to have a cigarette.
4:59 pm: A loud crash sounds as our plane taxis the runway. Turns out the plane’s left wing accidentally hit a truck. We will have to disembark here. In the middle of the runway. In a nor’easter. Oh.
5:11 pm: Pilot orders us to exit through the back door, causing the extra–legroom proletariat of the front five rows to grumble loudly. The 99% prevail!
5:13 pm: Disembark onto freezing cold runway of JFK. Windier than the Wind Tunnel during Hurricane Sandy. Shoved into bus with fellow flight survivors. Do not even want to know what my hair looks like right now.
5:16 pm: Arrive at terminal. Untangle myself from bus inhabitants and run for Immigration. God Bless the USA.
