My dearest wife,

I’ve never seen the captain so low- I set him up with the perfect opportunity to utter “living the dream”, the pilot mantra, and he merely stared out the window, glumly tacit. We’ve been in this line 2 hours; no one could have known the horrors that awaited on this, the first day of March.

Oh, cruel cold fates, why have you turned your chilling eyes on the 3rd month of the year? Spring was in the air just last week, and so the powers that be at DTW assured us that surely the worst was over. Our inquiries about deicing procedures scoffed at, for this is the moment spring supposedly arrives to quell the need for questionable ice resistant fluid we tell passengers it’s ok to breath, but really who knows.

Try as they might, they were ill-prepared for the sleet-filled onslaught that even still assails us all, as we yearn to take flight. And so now, here we sit. In the distance, I hear the children crying from their seats; Paw Patrol reruns will no longer temper their audible rage against their captivity, and Gogo inflight has once again proven a useless technological ally on the ground. “Think of the graphs!” cry the suited men and women, “How will I make synergy and my graphs?!” I wish I knew, business travelers. I wish I knew.

How is he supposed to live, laugh, and synergize in these conditions?

As we ford the frozen puddles of the runway, I’m moved by the solidarity in the back, specifically coach. Normally a cesspool of human baseness, whenever I risk a call to the back the FAs tell me that people are for the most part, calm and kind. I am grateful for the sympathy and patience of this travelling public, just as I am prepared for it to soon be pushed to the brink.

An update, dear one. The lead just called to tell us they have run out of pretzels and Diet Coke. I do not know how long they will be able to keep the people calm; surely soon help will arrive. Surely soon it will be our turn to be anointed and set free to OMA.

It’s called fashion, look it up

My darling, if this letter reaches you, it will be because I am no longer a resident of this cockpit or this earth; a plane riot is my greatest fear and yet I can feel the tension mount in the air we’ve yet to soar through. Soon, these people, driven by hunger, thirst, and the golf channel played on loop will leave their senses and I’ve no doubt as to how they will vent their (justifiable) rage. Dearest, if the worst does happen, and I am not able to come home to you and little Tom Jr, know that I adore you both. Please sprinkle my ashes at our place- the MCO Macaroni Grill to Go- I hope that every time you see a plane overhead or a man in white Addidas with calf socks, you think of me.

All my love,

FO Tom

P.S. Just as we reached the glorious de-icing machine, Captain Paul reluctantly murmured that he just went illegal. Words cannot capture the irate epithets and fierce glares of the deplaning public. I bet Sully never had to deal with this crap.