I Love You Lance

A description of a near-air disaster:

When the steep glide began, people rose, fell, collided, swam in their seats. Then the serious screaming and moaning began. Almost immediately a voice from the flight deck was heard on the intercom: 'We're falling out of the sky! We're going down! We're a silver gleaming death machine!' This outburst struck the passengers as an all but total breakdown of authority, competence and command presence and it brought on a round of fresh and desperate wailing. Then there was a second male voice from the flight deck, this one remarkably calm and precise, making the passengers believe there was someone in charge after all, an element of hope: "This is American 2-1-3 to the cockpit voice recorder. Now we know what it's like. It's worse than we'd ever imagined. They didn't prepare us for this at the death simulator in Denver. Our fear is pure, so totally stripped of distractions and pressures as to be a form of transcendental meditation. In less than 3 minutes we will touch down, so to speak. They will find our bodies in some field, strewn about in the grisly attitudes of death. I love you, Lance." This time there was a brief pause before the mass wailing commenced. Lance? What kind of people were in control of this aircraft? The crying took on a bitter and disillusioned tone.

From Don DeLillo's White Noise (thanks Ali)