My Six Irrational Fears

As a follow-up to the Six Things People Don’t Know About Me, I’m pleased to present My Six Irrational Fears. As I noted in my original “Six Things” post, I’m too much of a language snob to call this my “Six Things I’m Afraid Of”, because that would end in a preposition. I’m literally a slave to my neuroses, but I like to think that's part of my charm.

In any case, I had a lot of fun with that post, and I thought this might be almost as fun. I do have some ridiculous fears, as you’ll see.

1. Thanks to That Old Nag Candy, I’m Terrified of Horses. November, 1990: It was a misty morning in pastoral Castroville, California when I first met Candy, a 12 year old nag owned by my friend Joy’s father. We’d spent a fun night at Joy’s house, watching The Princess Bride and eating artichokes, and we woke up in the morning to a breakfast of Mickey Mouse pancakes. After breakfast we were set to go riding, which I’d never done before. One moment, I was happily mounting Candy and picking up the reins, and the next minute I was on my back next to a steaming pile of horse hockey, staring at Candy’s undercarriage with the wind knocked out of me. In fairness to Candy, I’m sure I did something wrong, but I won’t make that mistake again, because I don’t go near horses!

2. Airbags: The Inflatable Guillotine? – There’s no real reason behind this one, except that I’m 5’1” and I sit pretty close to the steering wheel. I have visions of the damn thing inflating in some fender bender and blowing my head right off my shoulders.

3. I May Need 10mg of Valium Just to Write About Flying – I was never afraid of flying until a fateful business trip to Rhode Island to meet a client. Everything was cool on the flight for the first 30 minutes or so, when we reached cruising altitude. The seatbelt sign went off, I did what anyone with a bladder the size of a peanut would do after a Venti Americano on the concourse. While I was in the lavatory, the plane shuddered and emitted a loud boom. Suddenly the flight attendant was banging on the door telling me to come out, “dressed or not”. I stepped out, whereupon she slammed me by the back of my shirt into a seat. There I sat amidst my trembling, crying fellow passengers for the 45 minutes it took to get back to the Atlanta airport for the emergency landing because one of the engines was ON FIRE. I saw one flight attendant crying, and another asked some passengers whether they’d given their hearts to Jesus yet, which let me know there was a strong possibility we were totally hosed and about to die in a twisted ball of metal. We made an emergency landing on a “special” runway with fire trucks and ambulances at the ready. No one was hurt, thankfully, but yeah, now I’d rather take the train!

4. The Day I Quit Getting Carded – Yes, I’m 37, and I still get carded sometimes when I encounter a clerk who's a little stoned. About 6 months ago I even got carded trying to buy a lottery ticket. I admit I’m obsessed with looking younger than my age, and I’ve even been getting laser treatments every month to keep the wrinkles at bay. Vanity, Thy Name is Addie!

5. Escalators: The Devil’s Skin-Crushing Pinking Shears – When I was about five years old, I stepped onto a “down” escalator with my Mom. About 1/3 of the way down, I slipped and rolled down to the bottom, all the while bouncing off those teeth at the edge of each step. Once I reached the bottom, my clothes got stuck in the mechanism somehow and as each step flattened out, it squashed my skin and left bloody blisters on my arms and legs. Needless to say, I much prefer the stairs.

6. The Dental Sadist, Euphemism “Dentist” – I find it hard to trust anyone who wants to put their hands in my mouth. I’ve never really had a bad experience at the dentist, so there’s no precedent for this fear other than raging neurotic identification with the bad experiences of others. I probably need therapy, the fainting-couch Freudian kind. I would say the therapy should be in a European sanitarium, but that would require a LONG flight, wouldn’t it?