The Alaska Airlines Door Incident Is So Much More Horrifying Than I Thought

Generally speaking, aviation manufacturers want to avoid situations where they must explain why a door in one of their planes imploded in the middle of a flight. Alas, Boeing—a company that is racking up an impressive record of modern aeronautic catastrophes—cannot seem to catch a break. Last Friday, on an Alaska Airlines flight from Portland, Oregon, to Ontario, California, the sheet-metal door plug covering the emergency exit on a Boeing 737 Max 9 blew off at around 16,000 feet, landing in the Arcadian backyard of an unlucky Oregonian far below, leaving a massive, human-sized hole in the middle of the cabin. The aircraft immediately depressurized, oxygen masks fluttered from the rafters, and the pilots—to their credit—successfully landed the plane back in Portland without anyone sustaining any major injuries. (Here’s where I must remind you that back in 2018, a similar incident on a Southwest flight led to the death of a woman after she was partially sucked out of a broken window.)

Everyone has been wondering what caused such a disaster, and if Boeing can identify the problem before it’s too late. Seriously, how does a door spontaneously crumple midflight? Surely the cause must be something eldritch and highly theoretical, involving the darkest of mathematics. Does it have something to do with the fluctuating atmospheric integrity of a rapidly overheating world? Did someone forget to switch to Airplane Mode? Is the Illuminati involved? Have we simply angered God? No, it’s none of those things. Apparently, someone simply forgot to screw in the bolts tightly enough, which is the most horrifying explanation of all. Here’s United, who grounded all of its 737 Max 9s, reporting the results of its investigation, per NBC:

It gets worse, because apparently some airlines had an inkling that the Max 9s had a pressurization problem, and were happy to clear the plane for travel anyway. Al Jazeera reports that “warning lights triggered” on three separate Alaska Max 9 flights, which—to be clear—is an aircraft’s safety system announcing, in no uncertain terms, that it’s about to be rocked by a destabilizing blowout. But I digress: Loose bolts? Fuck off! You’re Boeing! Why are you assembling aircraft in the same way I put together an IKEA couch? That’s not allowed to be the problem!

Remember the original Boeing Max saga? How all of those newfangled 737s were grounded after they kept crashing after takeoff? The problem was some faulty computer software that yanked away orientational control from the pilot, pitching the planes downward into a terminal nosedive. It was terrifying, and absolutely criminal on Boeing’s part, but at least it reeked of some sinister sci-fi stuff—a vengeful A.I., of the SkyNet variety, eliminating humanity one fuselage at a time. Dying in a plane crash is my No. 1 nightmare, but if I must go out that way, I’d prefer it to be symbolic of a larger story about mankind losing ground to the infernal machines.

What I don’t want to do, in any capacity, is perish in an unconscionable midair disaster because some idiot didn’t screw in the bolts tightly enough. Again, the bolts. The fulcrum on which the entire plane is held together—technology that has existed since roughly 400 B.C. I’m confident that I could do the job correctly, and I write for a living. It’s not that hard!

For the love of God, Boeing: Get it together. Start delivering planes that don’t threaten to disintegrate with a stiff breeze. Make sure the doors are properly attached, and double-check that the wings are soldered on correctly as well. You’re not getting any passes, anymore.