I am not a good flyer. On the outside, I look serene. The 18 glasses of red wine I drink during the flight helps a lot. But on the inside, I am jumping up and down, wringing my hands and screaming at the slightest bit of turbulence. Before 9/11, the pilots used to let me visit them in the cockpit (I cannot say this word without giggling like a 6-year old) but thanks a lot, Osama bin Laden, you gave me another reason to hate you. Now, I am not allowed anywhere near the door, so must sit in my seat like a good girl while horrifying images of well ... I won't say .... but you know where I'm going with this. One memorable trip, these Spanish pilots from Ib... er ... some national airline which I won't name let me sit with them during the landing. That was so cool! I swear they were drinking wine. Red, like me. But I digress. If that were me in that plane, wow. I don't know what I would have done.
On another flight once, from Lisbon to Madrid (different pilots) we had to turn back and make an emergency landing. It sounds more scary than it was ... there was a minor electrical problem which did not require any firetrucks or anything upon landing. They fixed it and we were back up. The pilot (again before 9/11) who was really really hot also reassured me it was no big deal. He gave me his pen. I still have it. Did I mention he was hot?