I’ll pass on the Mile High Club, thanks

While your intrepid gazetteer is supportive of many efforts to further man’s mastery of the skies, making sexytime in an aircraft lavatory is one of those pursuits that he has never been able to fully comprehend.  For some of us, the appeal of flying lies in the way in which the aircraft becomes an extension of the person; granting the freedom to move in three dimensions with the winged creatures of the earth, to take in sumptuous and serene vistas which few can routinely see, to visit remote locales which few have visited.

The idea of spending one’s time aloft locked in a tiny windowless closet, taking in the smell of human waste and chemical disinfectants, while simultaneously trying to put Tab A into Slot B seems like Missing The Point on a rather grand and tragic scale.  There is no philosophy in it, no majesty or grandeur.  It is like winning a million-dollar lottery prize, and spending every last cent of one’s winnings on table salt.

JetHead, a veteran captain having logged 24 years flying service with American Airlines, also does not see the point:

2. Mile High Club? Seriously?

What, in an outhouse? The last guy’s skid marks (remember: no water) stinking the place up? Now THAT’S amore. And you’d have to be an idiot. Your buddy who claims he did it in the lav (yeah, right) is an idiot for even thinking about it.

— JetHead.  “Airliner Lavatories: No Blue Sky and NO DEUCE. Ever.”  JetHead’s Blog, 3 February 2010.

He also goes into some detail about the ventilation systems, and how the ah, aerosolised byproducts of lav activity make their way into the cockpit very quickly.  Ew.  Very funny read, though.

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