May 12, 1968
by Janine Stephenson
After much deliberation, Ron and others decided that we should “bring the talents we developed in Concord to California.”
Great. Now how do we get there?
The campaign has offered to fly all three of us to Los Angeles. It would only take a few hours. So they say. I’ve never been on an airplane before, but the thought of it makes me queasy. Ron said that there are plenty of people who are afraid of flying and that I should take comfort in knowing that plane crashes are a very rare thing. But I take no comfort in even thinking of plane crashes, never mind figuring out the odds of it happening.
The thought of my feet leaving the ground makes my palms sweat. I don’t want to trapped in a flying cylinder, which is all that an airplane is.
Becca, of course, is very happy to fly in an airplane because she’s always thought that stewardesses were glamorous. She even said herself that she wouldn’t mind serving drinks to rich men on airplanes, and that it would most definitely be worth the risk of crashing.
Craig says that he wouldn’t mind driving to California, but he isn’t sure his car will survive the trip. I know even less about cars than I do about airplanes, but I think that getting stuck somewhere is far better than crashing in an airplane. In one instance, you’re bored and lonely. In the second instance, you’re dead.
Ron says he doesn’t care how we get to Los Angeles, as long as we do it in a timely fashion. The campaign will front us a stipend.
All I know is that I’d rather hitch than fly in an airplane.
