“We’re experiencing a slight flight delay,” the captain said over the airline intercom. “No big deal, folks.”

We have all boarded the plane. We are all crammed in this passenger cabin like No. 9 sardines.

“…This delay should only take 30 minutes. Again, no big deal.”

The passenger next to me is a guy from Hoboken, New Jersey, named Bill. Evidently, Bill from Hoboken has serious sleep apnea.

I know this because he fell asleep and is currently snoring so loudly I can feel the vibrations in my molars. Every few seconds, Bill stops breathing. So I nudge him. Whereupon Bill snorts in a Warner Bros.-cartoon-like snore so intense you would swear Bill is faking it. But I assure you Bill is the real deal.

The captain speaks overhead. “Howdy, folks. Just want to keep you informed. Nothing to be alarmed about, we’re just having serious electrical problems with our doors.”

Serious problems with the doors. I’m thinking doors are somewhat important to basic airline safety. If you do not have doors, you have giant holes in your airplane. How is this “no big deal”?

“…So we’re just waiting on the airline mechanic,” the captain adds. “Should take another 15 minutes. Again, no big deal.”

No big deal. An airline pilot could be told by a neurosurgeon that he has an inoperable, fatal brain condition, and he would reply, “No big deal.”

Most airline pilots were military pilots in a previous life. Some of them were fighter pilots. Therefore, nothing short of nuclear war is a “big deal” because they are not normal humans. Military pilots were the kids in your neighborhood who rode bikes with no hands. You probably did this, too. But your military pilot did it on the roof of his house.

Meantime, Bill from Hoboken is currently on an apnea roll. He is snoring so noisily that everyone is directing hateful stares at me. I smile at glaring passengers and gesture to Bill, indicating that Bill and I are not going steady.

Thirty minutes go by.

The air conditioners have now quit. The plane is a toaster oven. There is a smell in the cabin faintly reminiscent of hard boiled eggs that have been passed through the system of a constipated toddler. I’m not entirely sure this smell is not coming from Bill.

There is a woman in the seat behind me, talking on her cellphone. She is using an outside voice. Volume-wise, she’s matching Bill decibel for decibel.

“Alright, folks…” says the captain.

Hallelujah, we’re all thinking. Hopefully, he has some good news.

“…I would estimate we’ll be taking off in another 10 minutes, folks. No big deal.”

Thirty minutes later…

The woman behind me is blowing her nose. From the sound of her expectorant, she is having a very productive experience.

A passenger with a barking lap dog is yelling at his dog in a foreign language.

I think Bill is dying.

“Bad news, folks,” says the captain. “The problem isn’t fixed, we’re just going to call the whole flight off.”

Everyone is mad. People are swearing. Children are crying. People are tearing their own clothing. The grumbling noise wakes Bill up.

“What’s going on?” Bill asks.

“We’re getting off the plane now,” I say.

“We’ve already landed?” he says, looking refreshed from a long winter’s nap. “That was a quick flight, wasn’t it?”

No big deal.