The very first flight on an airplane I took was on a 747 from Chicago to San Francisco. I was headed to Fort Ord, California for basic training. It was a midnight flight and the stewardesses were super attentive to me when they found out where I was going. Man, that was living! They kept me topped up with drinks, food and company. I thought, "Hey, this flying ain't so bad after all!".
Upon landing I was transferred to a "puddle jumper" for the flight to Monterrey. I swear that plane was so small the pilot turned it by leaning as you would on a motorcycle.
Never recovered from the "willies" of the second flight. To this day the wife has to pry my finger tips from the armrests of whatever flight we take.
