I've a few random things that happen to me often, that make little or no sense to me and the few people I tell: there seems to be a pattern, a message, but it also leaves me feeling foolish every time I try and put it in words.
Like the fact that whether I travel by train or by air, I'm always, invariably given a seat next to the emergency exit. Always. ALWAYS. The few times when I had a seat that was nowhere near an emergency exit, I've ended up swapping it, either with a couple that wants to be together or an old uncle who wants a lower berth. And that swap too has lead to the emergency exit seat or the seat right after it.
No, I don't ask for a seat with more legroom. I'm a midget, and I barely manage to get my feet to touch the floor of the plane. I told the husband this once, when he was not my husband, and we were flying back from Delhi. He looked at me as if the previous night's tequila shots were dancing over my head. And then said that thanks to me, he had more legroom and a stiff back - because emergency exit seats don't tilt back. That was the last time I mentioned it to him, and to anyone, till a friend sent me something that jogged this memory afresh.
'The crash in Amsterdam appears to support the theory that the safest place to sit in a modern aircraft is in, or close to, the emergency exit rows over the wings.'
A study by the University of Greenwich found that between two and five rows from the exit, passengers have a better chance of escaping in the case of a crash, even if there is a fire. Six or more rows from an exit, and 'the chances of perishing far outweigh those of surviving'.
If there's supposed to be a message in an unorchestrated event's repeated occurrence, I'd like to tell God that I'm not too keen to prove this study correct. Thank you destiny, for your signals, but I'm hoping to age into a tottering old lady who has no teeth and farts on demand and whose greatest adventure in life has been raising Nino.
3 hours ago