On one of my recent flights, this was the view of the tray table on the seat-back in front of me, pretty much at eye level:
Staring at it through my normal take-off angst, I found myself trying to imagine who had decided this was the right text to inscribe on every tray table. It’s hard to read in this photo, but these two sentences are, “Fasten seat belt while seated,” and “Use bottom cushion for flotation device.” The first one seems appropriate to me, as it is a helpful bit of advice that can be applied to a scenario that happens on 100% of all flights: sitting. The second, however, addresses a catastrophic scenario that is EXTRAORDINARILY rare. (My totally unscientific Google research indicates that “ditching,” the only way your plane can end up in the water with you still alive, is less than a one-in-a-million occurrence.)
I wonder if the benefit of reminding passengers of a single step they could take in a specific type of super-rare emergency really warrants constantly reminding of the possibility of such an event. My mind read those two sentences as, “We could experience turbulence,” and “We could crash into the OCEAN, OMG!” Just imagine if the home screen of your cellphone always said, “Lock your phone when not in use,” and “Text GSF to 011 in case of phone-ignited gas station fire.”
Also, how did the message about the cushions win out over other, possibly more useful safety info like, say, the emergency landing brace position? Because it’s short?
________________________________________________________
And then, boarding a different flight, I saw that the safety information cards were stuck into the tops of the seats like this, instead of hidden away in the seat-pockets as they usually are:
I got sort of excited by this, thinking that it was a change in airline policy toward passenger engagement with the safety information. Having the cards like this, and requiring each passenger to move their own card from here to the pocket in front of them would change the act of looking at the card from opt-in (passengers have to first decide to pull it from the pocket) to forced-choice (passengers have it in their hand, and then have to decide whether to look at it or not).
The web equivalent would be changing it from this:
to this:
My nerdy excitement was for naught, however, because it turned out the cleaning crew had just accidentally left them like this, and the flight staff quickly tucked them all back into the seat pockets.
Perhaps if they could guarantee more people looked at the safety card, they wouldn’t need to inscribe scary safety messages everywhere?
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
It’s worth remembering that, while North America’s geography makes a water landing unlikely, for those of us in Europe (and particularly the UK) crossing over water on flights is very common.
So you’re absolutely right: that notice still performs mostly an illusory task, but for Europeans the likelihood, and I’d suspect the fear, is higher. I definitely prefer the illusion that to the reality: “Use bottom cushion to soften crushing impact”!
This post hits one of my favorite design challenges squarely on the head; that of designing for panic situations. Airplanes in particular take “designing for panic” to another level—with the redundant lighting systems on the floor, oxygen masks, the use of iconic representation throughout the plane to indicate non-verbal information, etc. After spending some time in this headspace, I think giving people a sense of control over their environment is key to how well they respond to panic and emergency situations. Perhaps the message about the “cushion as flotation device” provides that sense of control, and not only implies that one could survive such an event if it were to happen, but also, that tools would be available to help in the aftermath. As subtle as it is, I wonder if the message may have more to do with human psychology than anything else. I am going to have to find an aircraft cabin designer so I can ask!
Cennydd and Bella, you both raise an interesting point. Perhaps the message is actually meant to be a reassurance; a sign that everything would be fine if the plane did have to come down in water. I wonder if that’s true, and if it works that way for most people. And Cennydd, maybe you’re right—perhaps it didn’t have that effect on me because I mostly don’t fly over water. Maybe I’m an outlier, but I prefer stay in my bubble believing that the chances of any emergency landing at all are basically nonexistent.
I would love to hear the true story. Bella, if you ever get the straight scoop, please let me know!