I Believe I Can Fly...
Against my better judgement I let my friends convince me that it would be a good idea to toss myself out of an airplane at 10,500 feet.
There were several levels of protection in place to ensure the enjoyment of all parties involved. First there was the brown outfit that the staff selected for me, acting as camoflauge in the likely event that I soiled myself while exiting the aircraft.
In case the first parachute didn't open the pack contained a backup, and if that one failed too, I was provided with a leather helmet which was sure to cushion the impact of my body dropping out of the clouds at 54 metres per second.
Failing all of that, there was the mountain of waivers I signed so my family could focus on my funeral and not have to deal with distracting litigation.
They sent us up with the latest in aircraft technology. The bullet holes in the side demonstrated that the fuselage could withstand an attack by the Red Baron, and only the finest duct tape was used to hold the rest together. From outside the plane I yelled "Contact!", gave the propeller a spin to kickstart the motor, and we were off.
While playing to the videographer who jumped out with me, I kinda forgot to pull the ripcord when we reached 6,000 feet. Good thing for the instructor attached to my back, like Yoda on Luke Skywalker. The bad thing about deploying the chute was the two harness straps passing through a sensitive area, making my voice go falsetto. I almost felt like undoing the buckles, flapping my arms and testing the limits of that leather helmet.
That didn't happen, of course, and everything went as planned. If I do this a next time however, I'll be sure to heed the advice of my instructor: "When the people look like ants, it's time to pull the cord. When the ants look like people, it's too late."
Words to live by. Literally.
