on planes

The plane bounded into the sky. I peered down and watched the mountains of Guatemala hurtling below me, receding, distancing.
Everything turned white; we burst out of the clouds and we could see the tops of them like ice cream. If I strained my neck to look above us, I could see the darker blue of the mesosphere.
Thankful that my ears didn't hurt as much as they had when I flew to Minneapolis, I picked up my awesome romantic action-packed novel and endeavored to read.
Then the pilot spoke to us ("God?!") in a rather lazy, indifferent voice. "We'll be encountering some extreme turbulence in the next 45-50 minutes."
I gripped my chair with white knuckles. It was just like Lost. Look, that woman looks like Kate. Where's Hurley? I want to see Hurley before I die. Didn't I see a tiny island a few minutes ago? I bet it was Hydra. I'm not a candidate. Jacob won't let me live. They're returning to the island. Does this plane have any Numbers on it? 767, no. I'm overreacting. I'm going to die.
We hit the turbulence. It reminded me of a less dramatic version of the roads in Guatemala City.
"Sorry, we just wanted to err on the side of caution."
Yeah, thanks.