AIR TRAVEL

Today, after weeks of research and deliberation, I finally decided that flying Air India to Paris is simply a deathwish waiting to happen. I tried in vain to get a refund, but ultimately decided to write it off as a sunk cost and purchased a more expensive ticket on another airline. Air India has a record of about 7 fatalities per 1,000,000 takeoffs, while American can boast of a rate of less than 1. [Source] My father, of course, is appalled by my flagrant disregard for the value of money. But in the face of death, I ask, what worth is a few hundred dollars? Needless to say, we're currently not on speaking terms.

My nerves are wrought from the prospect of my upcoming flight. They say flying becomes easier with experience, but in my case, I've only become more distraught with each passing flight. Every safe landing to me is interpreted as another successful attempt at thwarting death's efforts. But the odds will catch up eventually, I'm almost certain. I just want to find a place in the world I can call home so that I may curtail all of this criss-crossing of the globe and lead a comfortable and safe life within a 5-mile radius until my ultimate expiration from natural causes. Too much to ask for?