It’s hard to get a DUI if you can’t make it to your car without passing out. I keep a fresh bottle of whiskey next to my arm chair so I can throw the brakes on life and kick my feet up at the skies. I fly high, but it’s the only way to feel sober.

In the cockpit, I radio my vector to the victor, switch on the autopilot, and step away from the controls. From this point of view, it is hard to distinguish who is at loss. Is it me; the trained pilot, who is trained to give tasks to the autopilot? Or is it the plane, who is cutting through the skies a hundred times faster and higher than mankind was ever meant to travel? Or is it the fuel that was ****** out of the ground in the desert, where it’s lubrication was needed for preventing earthquakes, then separated by pressure and heat, before being barreled and shipped to the other side of the planet, where it is squeezed though a maze of pipes, into the tank of the jet liner. Once airborne, the jetliner burns thousands of tons of fuel every minute. Is the airline at a loss, chained to this ancient machine? Is the passenger at a loss, for being stuffed into the back of the plane with hundreds of others, stinking their way to the cabin. All dancing in line to get to the only toilet in the plane.

No, surely the toilet has the worst job.