A Flight of Clarity

It was a cool, foggy day in the beginning of September. My heart pounded with anticipation as I stood in line at the airport waiting among the many tourists to begin my long, strenuous journey to Ramageland. I slowly unloaded my possessions, a messenger bag consisting of my laptop and a user’s guide to rhetoric, onto the conveyor belt and stepped through the lighted archway. Now that I was considered safe to travel, I made my way to the terminal where I nervously awaited the departure of my flight.
“Now boarding, flight 123 en route to Ramageland,” a voice bellowed over the loud speaker. This was it; the beginning of my long journey. I boarded the plane and took my seat cautiously, observing all safety precautions. A very serious looking man sat next to me. He was a tall, lanky character with thin wire glasses, gray hair combed perfectly to the side, and a pale complexion. He wore a collared shirt with a tie and a sweater vest. I introduced myself first.
“Hello,” I said. “My name is Erin.” He glared at me skeptically for a moment as if he was unsure if he should reply.
“My name is Anthony Rhetoric,” he replied, “but you can call me Anti. I’m on my way to Ramageland to take part in a debate against rhetoric and the problems it causes in society.”
“Interesting,” I said with a slight grin on my face. I was headed to Ramageland for the direct opposite reason. The purpose of my voyage was to gain a better understanding of Rhetoric and its uses in every day society. Now I was quite nervous about my trip. After all, how comforting could it be sitting next to such an inflexible person?
I sat back in my seat and tried to relax. My mind filled with all sorts of perplexing question that I wanted to ask Anti. It seemed sort of hypocritical to me that he was on his way to debate rhetoric, but would be using rhetoric in order to debate it. Just as I was about to continue our discussion, a wave of nausea overwhelmed me as the plane’s engines began to rumble. I remained silent, with my knuckles turning white as I clenched the arm rests. The plane jolted down the runway and before I knew it, we were airborne. Relief finally found me when the plane leveled out and the pilot’s voice bellowed once again to inform us we were at a safe distance to resume use of our electronic devices. I watched as Anti prepared his cd player for listening pleasure, but before he inserted his ear buds, I interrupted.
“So, Anti, I would like to hear some of the things you plan on presenting at the debate if you are willing.”
“Ok, well for starters, ‘rhetoric is a low-budget pseudoscience; its methods can’t be formalized or routinized and its conclusions are uncertain (Ramage 2).’” I looked at him puzzlingly as he began to present to me his argument. He sounded as if he were regurgitating a text book. It didn’t seem to me that he really believed what he was saying. “Rhetoric is nothing more than an attempt to soften up the people in society and get them to be so open minded that they can no longer make decisions for themselves. It is immoral and encourages agonistic behavior.” He was beginning to sound more passionate about his position.
“Wow! I never thought of rhetoric as a brain washing mechanism,” I replied with a bit of sarcasm. I think he could tell that I wasn’t taking him seriously and he was getting annoyed. “What about personal identity? Don’t you believe that people should have the right to decide on who they want to become? Without rhetoric and the ability of people to persuade, we would all be exactly the same. Everyone on this plane would have the same reason for their voyage to Ramageland.”
“No, I don’t think that people should have such a choice. Life would be easier if there was a format or some guidelines to follow.” He was beginning to sound a bit frustrated.
Just as I began to realize that this was a conversation that would only go in circles, I saw a three flight attendants begin to make their way through the cabin with a cart full of a variety of drinks and snacks sure to satisfy the thirst I was beginning to develop. I noticed immediately that the male attendant was slightly below average height and had a nice athletic build. As he neared Anti and I, I could barely make out the letters on his winged nametag. The letters read “Gavin”. “Hmm,” I thought, “that’s a nice name.” He approached our seats and asked us what we would like to drink. I ordered a coke and Anti predictably ordered water with no ice. I asked Gavin how he liked being a flight attendant as he poured my coke into a glass.
“I like it just fine,” he replied. “I really wanted to be a NBA basketball star though. I always dreamed of being a basketball star. Unfortunately I am stuck with the traits that were given to me. Oh well, we can’t change everything.” He smiled and continued down the row offering drinks to other passengers.
“See,” I said to Anti. “Not everyone can live life by guidelines. A lot depends on what traits you inherit.” He didn’t answer me.
The second flight attendant that came to our seats was a woman named Loretta. She was the epitome of what a flight attendant should look like. She had blonde hair piled on top of her head covered by a stiff blue hat. Her white teeth looked even whiter next to her cherry red lipstick and sparkled when she smiled. She was tall and thin and her uniform was in tip top shape. Just by looking at her, I could tell she was a workplace readymade who strived to impress her boss and be a role model for flight attendants everywhere. I could picture her on her time off lounging at home reading books with titles like How to be a Winner at Work or How to Win Friends and Influence People (Ramage 46). She smiled widely as she offered both Anti and I a small bag of Planter’s honey roasted peanuts and a napkin.
“Thank you,” I said to her attempting a smile just as flawless. I knew I couldn’t. I glanced over at Anti. I knew he was waiting for another remark out of me. I decided to prove him wrong and not say anything at all, avoiding the possibility of being predictable.
The third flight attendant was approaching. She was an average looking girl who seemed a bit timid, but smiled sincerely at each passenger. Her winged name tag read “Ava”. Her uniform, too, was pressed neatly but you could tell there was a story beneath her outward shell. She did not seem like just a model for the company. As she walked by our row, she asked Anti and I if we needed anything else on the remainder of our flight to Ramageland. We both declined and thanked her for her kindness.
“Now,” I said to Anti, “Do you still believe that everyone should live life by the same guidelines? That girl that just passed us constructed her own identity out of her surroundings and events that took place in her life. Without those events, she would be just another pretty face representing a company rather than a person.”
“Well, I do see that people are different,” replied Anti. “But I still don’t support all this rhetoric stuff that the president of Ramageland has been preaching.”
I smiled at him.
“And that’s your prerogative,” I told him. “That’s the beauty of rhetoric. It’s ubiquitous. Everyone is entitled to their opinion. Rhetoric just gives us the option to attempt to persuade people one way or the other.”
That was the end of our conversation. We sat silently beside each other for the remainder of the flight. The bellowing voice came on again informing us that we were approaching our destination. As we neared the runway in Ramageland, I looked out the window. The view was very different from where we took off. The sky was clear and sunny and it looked very warm outside. I surprisingly did not get any nausea feelings as we touched ground in Ramageland. I exited the plane and made my way to the baggage claim. I collected my belongings that once seemed so complicated, and were now suddenly simplified thanks to my discussion with Anti.