By Hallie Cantor
If Life Had An Airplane Safety Manual
In the event that you say, “See you at Dave’s party” to someone who was not invited to Dave’s party:
Each door is equipped with an inflatable slide. Slide down with your arms and legs crossed.
(slide comes out of nowhere. you slide down!)
Enjoy the party.
In the event that you see someone you vaguely know at the grocery store, and you’ve never officially met, but you know they know who you are, so it would be too weird to introduce yourself:
A grocery bag will automatically descend from the ceiling. Place it over your head. The bag may not inflate, but awkwardness will be avoided.
Secure your own bag first, before helping others.
In the event that you’re in the bathroom when someone else is pooping and you both come out to wash your hands at the same time, and you’re wondering why you feel weird about it even though they should feel weird since they’re the ones who were pooping, and for that matter everyone poops and why does anyone have to feel weird about it at all, and then you notice you’ve been staring intensely at them in the mirror for thirty seconds:
A walking stick will automatically extend from the faucet.
Pull it out and use it to pretend that you are blind and haven’t been staring like a moron.
In the event that you fart in yoga:
Emergency track lighting near the floor will illuminate. Make your way to the exit closest to you. Note that the nearest exit may be behind you.
A large electromagnet will begin to pulse inside the yoga studio, wiping clear the incriminating memories of everyone inside.
In the event that you accidentally hit Like on a stranger’s Facebook activity:
Your Facebook page will self-destruct.
Maintain online silence for at least two years before slowly building up a new identity.
In the event that you suddenly realize you’ve had like three poppy seeds between your teeth for the entirety of a job interview:
A time travel vest is located in a pouch under your seat. Slip it over your head and adjust the straps.
To activate the vest’s time travel function, pull firmly on the red cord. Have cereal for breakfast instead.
In the event that you take too long to figure out that someone is holding the door for you and they start to give up and go first at the same time you try to go first and your head winds up in their armpit:
Giant, mechanical arms will appear from overhead.
Let them lift you into the air and carry you safely away from the building and home to your bed. The gentle arms of your robot-mother will bring you food and carry you to the bathroom so that you never need to risk painful human interaction ever again.