I’ve never enjoyed airplanes—too paranoid about crashes and bombs and terrorists and cooties to ever “sit back, relax, and enjoy the flightâ€�—but I have reconciled myself to airports. I’ve actually come to enjoy airports. I look at it this way: When you’re in an airport, you’re not on an airplane. You survived the flight or you have yet to board—either way, the airport is preferable to the airplane in every possible way.

Not only can you get up and walk around, you can have yourself a drink (I’m a regular at a bar in the Minneapolis airport), surf the web, work, and watch people. But most importantly, again, when I’m in the airport and not in the air… I don’t have to stress out about my imminent demise. My head isn’t flooded by mental images of planes exploding or breaking into pieces (thanks, Lost). When I’m on the ground, I’m not thinking about my death.

Until yesterday, when I had to get to the “Câ€� gates at Detroit’s airport. Look at this picture…

It’s a long, dark hallway, with diffuse and moody blue lighting. Oh, and there’s a soundtrack: spooky, ethereal, wind-chimey music. And all you have to do to get to your gate… is…

Walk toward the light.

Christ Almighty. I like Detroit’s airport—it’s nothing like Detroit proper—I try to schedule layovers here to break up long flights to the East Coast. (Yes, yes: the most dangerous parts of a flight are the takeoffs and landings, and by breaking my trips up I’m actually putting myself in greater danger. I never said my fear of flying was rationale.) But no more “C” gate flights from Detroit again. Ever.

I mean, whose bright idea was it to simulate of a near-death experience for passengers about to board an aircraft?