Shirley usually does all the planning, so you can imagine what I went through when I had to plan my own trip.  And where did I go … Laramie, Wyoming.

                I have never been to Wyoming, and based on what I saw there, not many other people have either.  I didn’t want to go – I had to go.  My very funny, extremely clever, and very unsympathetic friend, David, and I left for the “North” country. 

                My first hint of trouble came when, after our white knuckle landing in Denver, we had to find the airline handling the final leg of our journey.  Why was an airline by the name of Great Lakes flying from Denver to Laramie?  The Great Lakes are so named because they are too big to miss.  Should I be flying to Wyoming on an airline that can’t find a giant body of water around Michigan?  Uncomfortable was not the word I would use for the feeling I had as I tried to find the GLA (Great Lakes Airline) gate.  Not only that, I thought to myself, didn’t the GLA first get started by capturing people like Patty Hearst in the early ‘70s? Perhaps it was the SLA.  Oh well – maybe that was their parent company.

                We passed all the other small airlines on our way to the GLA gate – Your Final Flight Airline, Hope and a Prayer Tours, and Defective Parts Discount Fares.  The GLA gate wasn't actually gate, but more like a small hallway and my heart started pounding and my breathing became labored when I realized that this may actually be the doorway to my hearafter.

                I looked out of the terminal window and saw a very small plane with a propeller engine on each wing and a row of 10 small windows or so running along the fuselage.  I let out a scream.

                “Oh my God!  Is that our plane?” were the fear-laden words that blurted out of my mouth.

                A polite attendant standing behind a TV-tray-like check-in counter said with a smile, “Oh no, sir, that is our largest plane which we use only for our deluxe flights.  Your plane is over there.”

                I almost fainted.  I was having trouble catching my breath.  From the next window in the terminal I could see a tiny model that I'm positive my brother built when he was in the fifth grade.  This plane was painted blue so that you couldn’t find it when it was airborn or when it taxied to the end of the runway.  It was so small that it looked like it had only one wing.  I was positive I saw the mechanic changing the rubber band.

                “Sir, are you OK?” she asked.  I tried to talk but nothing came out.  Then David started laughing.  I would have said something to him but I couldn’t get a sound out. 

“Bill, can you come over here.  We have another passenger about to pass out,” the attendant said. 

When Bill came over he pulled out a deck of cards and said, “Pick a card.”

“Who are you?” David wanted to know as I felt lightheaded and started turning pale green.

“I am the pre-flight engineer,” Bill replied while shuffling the deck of cards.

“The mechanic does card tricks?” David asked while I was now hyperventilating and breathing into a  brown paper bag.

“I do coin tricks when I’m the pilot,” he proudly exclaimed.

I nearly fainted again.  David had already boarded the plane, leaving me softly sobbing at the counter.  As soon as they were able to pry my fingers loose from the stairway railing they slowly dragged me into the plane.  The ground attendant gave me a bottle of cold water and told me that if I needed something stronger to ask the pilot, as he usually has a flask with him. 

The plane was so small that they only had one seat belt for every two passengers.  The barf bags were reusable Tupperware containers, and the seat in front of me had a small hook that held a set of obviously worn and overused rosary beads.  Apparently many other people had asked for a book of prayers also because a Bible was in the seat pocket in front of every seat.  I felt comforted and a little safer when I saw a priest board the airplane – that all changed, however, when he sat in the front and I realized that he was the pilot.  We were off to heaven and I just knew I would never make it back.  It was a good thing that the Great Lakes Magazine of the Air contained a blank Last Will and Testament form because I quickly filled out as much as I could before I passed out.

Happily, I came to just as we were taxing up to the Laramie Airport, which, by the way, was the size of the Starbucks on Reseda Boulevard.  I was so happy to get out of that plane.  That craft was so small that I am sure they will recycle it when it no longer flies -- all they have to do is throw in some sardines and add the oil. 

That was the flight to Wyoming -- a nice place to be, if you want to be alone.  Wait until you hear about the trip home.

About the Author - Barry Pascal, former North Valley Honorary Mayor and Sheriff, 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.  Under the assumed name of Jay K. Rawling he claims to have also written Harry Plotter and the Chicken Soup Mysteries. 

© Barry Pascal August 2009