The thing about jumping out of an airplane is … you’re jumping out of an airplane.  Skydiving makes absolutely no sense.   You’re willingly hurling your body out of a perfectly good airplane.  And tempting fate.  And, yet, I still wanted to do it.   I didn’t just want to tempt fate, I wanted to thumb my nose at it.

My friend Hanuman got me a “skydiving experience” as a BDay present.  How thoughtful!  How considerate!  How kooky!  Being able to defy death is the gift that keeps on giving, yes?

On the way to the jump, Hanu kept asking me if I was having any reservations.  “No, I’m not sweating it at all,” I said.  “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Hanuman then went on about a four-minute diatribe about all the horrible things that could, indeed, happen.  I said, “Well, then I’m glad I invited your sorry ass along so that when I plummet to my death, you’ll be there to record it for posterity.  Let’s see how much bounce I get on impact.”

If truth be told, I was never even the slightest bit nervous.  I had to sign or initial at least ten pages of waivers.  A lot of the other first-time divers were pacing back and forth.  I plopped down on the couch to watch the safety video.  I knew it was going to be a good day when the designer of the parachute came on to drone on about our possible demise.  In the video, he was saying things like, “When skydiving, there is a possibility of injury … (dramatic pause) … or even death.”  (I’m not sure if there was an echo attached to that or not, but I could have sworn I heard “death … death … death … death …”)

I simply could not take the man on the video seriously.  He looked like a member of ZZ Top with an impossibly long, gray beard that reached down near his bellybutton.  I turned to Hanu and said, “That hippie freak designed the parachute I’m using today.  Joy.”  Hanu laughed.  He’s a hippie freak too … and that’s been my affectionate nickname for him for years.

I got partnered up with the lead instructor who actually runs the place.  He’s had over 1,700 successful (and injury-free) tandem jumps.  We practiced the drill twice.  And if he checked my harness once, he must have checked it four times.

Safety first, bitches!

The other jumper in the plane was a mousey, plain (plane?) Jane woman in the midst of a mid-life crisis.  She looked like she’d never done anything fun in her whole life.  When I gave her a high-five, I think she may have peed herself a little.  Four cocky frat boys went ahead of us.  I thought for sure God would have a sense of humor and ensure one of them broke their legs, but alas … everyone was injury-free.

On the way to the plane, I turned to the pilot (who I swear did NOT meet child labor law requirements) and said, “What movie will be shown on today’s flight?  And may I please have a Ginger Ale?”   He just looked at me.  Ahhh, aviation humor.

And then we were off … more about the jump in my next blog.