Meltdown at 38,000 Feet

The problem isn’t turbulence. The problem is existential dread.

It’s 4 a.m., and I’m lying on the floor of the aft galley on a Boeing 737 headed for Mexico City. The cabin is dark, most of the passengers asleep. But back here in the service area behind the toilets, in a cold corner between the exit door and docked beverage cart, there’s enough fluorescent light to spot crumbs and tiny liquid stains on the floor a few…