Is it true that life insurance pays double if you die at work?
Does that count if you’re returning from a work trip?
Asking for a friend.

TBH, I thought my family might find out on my last return flight home.

I should’ve known something was off when I booked the flight and 14A was already taken.
That was clearly a sign from the universe.

But no. I sighed and chose 14F instead.

Kinda the same thing, just the opposite side of the plane, right?

---

The majority of the flight was unremarkable.

The couple next to me were quietly sharing a Kit Kat and reading novels. Absolute angels.
I worked on my laptop for a while — captive audience, productivity boost.

When the flight attendant announced we’d begun our descent into Des Moines, I packed up my laptop, leaned back, and mentally prepared to land.
The air was noticeably rougher now. Not the worst turbulence I’ve flown through, but enough to twist my stomach.

Just as I was thinking, “Come on, just land this thing so my intestines can chill,” I looked out the window and saw the runway.

We were seconds from touching down when—

WHAM.
The plane jerks violently upward.
The nose tips up, and suddenly we’re climbing. Fast.

Friends, the cabin was silent as a crypt.
(Which is exactly what popped into my head. Because of course my brain turns into a Victorian novelist the minute I get anxious.)

We climbed to about 10,000 feet and entered a holding pattern.
We circled for 20 minutes — just enough time for everyone to start quietly panic-spiraling without making eye contact.
The turbulence had picked up.
You could feel people calculating exits and praying without looking like they were praying.

Round Two. FIGHT.

Eventually, we heard the landing gear drop.
Here we go.

The descent was worse.
Bumps. Jerks. Lurches. The kind of rocking where you instinctively start holding on to whatever’s around you — armrests, strangers, God.

The woman next to me and I weren’t exactly holding hands…
But we were both gripping the shared armrest like it was the last Oreo at a support group.

Then — the wheels hit.
Hard.

But we weren’t done.

The plane felt like it was skidding, coming in hot.
We started swaying side to side, like it was trying to remember which way was up.

I was positive we were about to start cartwheeling down the runway like a gymnast hopped up on Red Bull and chaos.

Funnily enough…
I wasn’t panicked.

I had questions, sure:

• Am I going to be injured?
• What’s it going to look like — like in those disturbingly realistic airplane crash movies I should not have watched?
• Thank god we’re over Des Moines and not the remote Andes…
  (Okay, that wasn’t a question. That was a genuine thought:
  “If I die, you’re free to eat me. But I’m not sure I could handle surviving and having to eat someone else.”
  Yes, I watched Alive too young. I regret nothing.)

But mostly…
I was calm.
That “Well, there’s nothing I can do about it, so let’s just see what happens” kind of calm.

Is that growth?
Resignation?
Airborne nihilism?
Unclear.

---

Eventually, the plane stopped swaying.
We slowed down.
The cabin erupted in spontaneous applause — myself included.
Because we all knew:
We weren’t totally sure that was going to end in one piece.

As we taxied, the pilot came over the loudspeaker:

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have landed in Des Moines…”

More applause.

“…and that’s why they pay us the big bucks.”

Nervous laughter. Somewhat unhinged. Fully earned.

Turns out wind gusts in Des Moines were topping over 50 MPH, making landings and takeoffs a very special kind of lottery.

Planes had to take off between gusts.
Every gate was backed up.
We sat on the tarmac for another hour…

And not a single person complained.

Bonus Moment: Exit Row Wisdom™️

I was in the exit row — and during pre-flight checks, the flight attendant (older guy, peak dry humor energy) gave us the standard safety speech:

“Are you willing and able to assist in case of an emergency?”

We all nodded.

“Any questions about the emergency exit?”

We shook our heads.

“Great. Because I can’t help you back here. If you can’t get the door open… I’ll wave to you from the other side of the window.”

Dark. Dry. Morbidly reassuring.

Reader, we laughed.
We had no idea how close that joke would come to reality.

Out of Office. Extra Everything.
Snark. Snacks. Seat 14A.