Personal Helicopters: Pros and Cons

Every morning my husband wakes up, goes downstairs, and begins reading the news on his computer.  The more obscure, the better.  Once he spent twenty minutes educating me on the Serial Cop-a-Feeler, a man who rode a bicycle and randomly grabbed at women as he rode past.  So when he announced that, for just $20,000, we could be the owners of our own personal helicopter I was not really surprised.  I was, however, able to quickly rattle off the reasons why we shouldn’t own one and how our cars were perfectly serviceable.  Of course for every con I gave he threw back a pro.  So I decided to look at this logically.

First stop, morning coffee.  Many of us are useless without it.  My husband gets horrible headaches without his daily pot’s worth.  Me, I just get stupid without enough caffeine.  I trip over nothing at a greatly increased rate.  He tried to convince me that his helicopter would result in faster coffee fetching.  I begged to differ.
When shown this photo he raised an eyebrow and said, “And?  I never said THEY would get their coffee faster.”  Touché.

Aside from the fact that we don’t have $20,000 to spend on anything, let alone a helicopter (I’ve never paid more than 3k for a car), the debate continued.  After the coffee comes the commute.  He works about thirty miles from our home across a sprawling metropolis filled with bad drivers, obscene gestures, and seemingly constant construction.  When I tried to argue in favor of the extended drive allowing time for personal reflection and the chance to catch up on our favorite podcasts he laughed.  “You?” he quipped.  “By the time you get to where you’re going you’re practically bald from pulling your own hair out!”
Yeah, he won this one. 

Next came the “Cool Factor”.  He tried to argue that his personal helicopter would be a chick magnet.  I disagree.  In fact, the first thing I thought of was that episode of the Cosby Show where Theo and Cockroach decided that a limo just wasn’t going to make a big enough impression at prom and instead rented a helicopter.  It didn’t go quite according to plan. 
Justine and Sylvia, Cockroach’s date (how he got a date with a name like Cockroach is beyond me), showed up back at the Huxtable house with hair that would make Dee Snyder circa 1988 jealous.  I think I won this round.

We argued our views on parking.  He claimed that there would always be a space available since so few people have personal helicopters.  I countered with the long walk from the top of a city skyscraper.  He praised better access to government facilities.  I stated firmly that I didn’t want to be accosted by FBI agents for taking over a government helicopter pad.

Then came the topic of drive-in movies.  We were sort of neck and neck on this one.  At the time he drove a Mustang Coupe and I drove an Oldsmobile Cutlass Calais.  Neither is roomy.  The helicopter however would make it impossible to hear the movie.  “For other people,” he was quick to point out.  “We could wear ear buds.” 

Finally, after countless rounds of pros and cons, I brought out my trump card.  I am terrified of aircraft.

Checkmate.

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