Back to Square One

It seems I have gone astray in my investigation... I must first apologize to Linda for falsely accusing her. I'm sure she'll understand...

Anonymous, you may have won this battle, but the war goes on. With each new comment you leave I glean new clues. Very soon I will tie all the loose ends together and expose you to the world. I shall not rest until this mystery is solved!

The 12 Days of Airline Pilot Christmas

On the 12th day of Christmas the sky gods sent on me:
12 reassignments,
11th in the queue,
10 new routings,
9 aircraft swaps
8 turns in holding
7 MEL's
6 feet of snow
5 HOUR GROUND STOP!!
4 gate changes
3 go arounds
2 return to gates
And an overnight in Moline!

Anonymous

Your time has come, Anonymous. No longer will you hide in the shadows, cloaked like a coward as you fling insult after insult from the safety of darkness. I have ascertained your true identity!

And so, LINDA, no longer will you slither behind the cover of anonymity. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, only an English teacher could have been capable of the grammatically flawless comments posted. Only an English teacher writes with such clarity and creativity. If the comments section allowed the use of red ink, you, Linda, would have used it.

Linda, AKA Murph. She of the nice shoes! Accept responsibilty for your actions! Enter your plea of guilty, and you shall have mercy...

Thanksgiving

I actually have Thanksgiving off this year. It will be the first major holiday I've had off since I started working at Eagle. Actually being around for a family holiday will feel quite weird I think... Needless to say, I'm looking forward to it. Sometimes it crosses my mind that I sacrifice a lot for this job, but then I remember that normal people actually have to work for their paychecks...

Dolan

"Ok Higa, the reason that it's not Fish nor myself messing with you on your blog is not that fact that we're not capable of it, but rather we don't care about you enough to bother on a long-term basis." - Ben Dolan

A quick review of this blog will reveal a startling fact: The only person who has written more words in this blog than Dolan is me. Dolan's 4 comments are the most by any single person, and his sometimes three paragraph long notes are by far the longest comments left. However, my esteemed corporate colleague would have us all believe he has better things to do...

As for being capable of producing comments of the same caliber as our friend Anonymous, lets take a quick look at Bendo's most recent posting... "Not that fact that..." Clearly the first "that," in the sentence is not a typo. Ben obviously intended to put it there, despite the fact that he is grammatically in error. "Capable of it, but rather we don't care..." The lack of a comma after "but rather," is considered gross negligence in most english classes. "More or less something to kill time with." This is a sentence fragment. Most civilized human beings use complete sentences.

Our friend Anonymous makes no errors in punctuation, constructs gramatically perfect sentences, and writes with a creativity and clarity that sets him or her apart from many good writers. I have narrowed down the possibilities to only a few. Expect judgement to be handed out very soon, Anonymous. Your days are numbered...

I Have Curtains!

Upon learning of my curtain problem (discussed in an earlier post) my sister Maria volunteered to purchase some fabric and custom make me some window dressings. This occured 3 weeks ago. At that time, I was told, "When you come back from your next trip, your curtains will be ready." 4 trips later, on this the 15th day of November, 2005, I am in possesion of what I must say are a fine set of curtains. My sister does good work, even if it does take her 4 times longer than she says it will. I am no longer at the mercy of the crack ass of dawn, as I can block the world out in the morning and lay content in utter darkness. The people across the street will also be spared the view into my room. No longer will they be able to watch me change, which is every bit as good for me as it is for them. Lets face it, no one wants to see that...

Clues

Anonymous has returned, and this time, left some clues. He or she is toying with me. Dropping me breadcrumbs, peaking from the shadows...

Clearly our anonymous friend is a lucid, imaginative writter. Since this reveals a reasonable level of intelligence, clearly Dolan and Fisher are no longer suspects. Our mysterious guest also dropped this bit of information, "I know you personally." This leads me to believe it is someone reasonably close to me. When I find the culprit, it will be just like Caesar turning to Brutus. "Et tu, Brute?"

Your face will not remain masked for long, Anonymous...

From the Airwaves

Recently heard on O'Hare approach control:

Approach controller - "Gateway 1234 do you have the airport in sight?"

Gateway 1234 - "Ah, negative sir, we're looking for it..."

Approach controller - "It's the 10 square mile piece of concrete directly in front of you."

Gateway 1234 - "Ooooh, you mean THAT airport..."

The Gauntlet has been Thrown

That's right folks. Our friend anonymous returned to taunt me. Transgressions of this nature are not easily forgotten, neither are they easily punished. You will be caught, Anonymous. Oh yes, you will be caught. I only hope you have the guts to admit your identity when I reveal it...

Anonymous

"So if Fish can do it, what exactly is your excuse?" - Anonymous (from comments under "the star of the show")

This is the manner in which one of you who reads this blog choses to ridicule me. It was a cowardly strike, the attacker not willing to reveal his or her identity. Does the assailant lack the intestinal fortitude to receive the payback that is certainly awaiting him or her? At least Bendo possesses the testicular strength to accept responsibility for his infantile ranting (during which he reveals a clear lack of confidence in his own sexuality), but anonymous clearly refuses to stand and be counted. This mystery will be solved, and retribution shall be swift!

From the Airwaves

Recently heard on O'Hare Approach Control:

Gulfstream 123AB- "O'hare approach, good morning, Gulfstream 123AB is with you at 11,000, we have information Sierra."

Approach Control - "Gulfstream 3AB, O'Hare approach, expect ILS runway 27 left"

Gulfstream 123AB- "3AB, can we request runway 32 right?"

Approach Control- "Sir, you can request whatever you want."

Gulfstream 123AB- "ahh, ok sir, we'd like to request runway 32 right."

Approach Control- "Gulfstream 3AB roger, expect runway 27 left."

Chicken is my Enemy

The cold sweat, the shakes, the utter lack of control over what comes out of your asshole... You all know what I'm talking about: Food Poisoning. The basic premise of cooking chicken is that you make damn sure it's cooked inside and out, in order to avoid having one of your patrons go home with a biological time bomb in their stomach. At about 2:10am central time, the bomb went off. When it was all said and done, the offending poultry cost me 10 hours of my body "clensing" itself, a horrid ride in the jumpseat of an MD80, a visit to the ER to have fluids replenished by IV, and $13. Just like during a hangover, I promised God I would never eat chicken again...

The Star of the Show

Recently I overnighted at Dulles in Northern Virginia, which is not too far from where Fish lives. I called him, we exchanged the obligatory insults, and arranged to get together for some lunch before I left for Chicago the next day. Many of you who received the original email announcing the birth of this blog may remember that I warned everyone they'd likely be ridiculed at one time or another. Fisher could read the writting on the wall, saying, "I'm gonna have a F%!^ing starring role in this thing!" Well Fish, you're right. Of all the people I know in my life, few are as likely to be verbally assaulted as Fish. Not just because it's easy, but because, in all fairness, he turns it around with surprising speed and accuracy. Especially for someone of his limited intelligence. Most of my friends would tell you that the more I make fun of you, the more I like you. If this were true, I'd have asked Fisher to marry me years ago. And if you think that's disturbing, consider this: about a year ago Fish married a nice girl by the name of Jen. Jen is a beautiful, thin, intelligent, gal. Fish is an ugly, fat, ignorant, unskilled, asshole. I constantly ask him if his wife has figured out she's too good for him. His typical response: "Not yet, and I hope she never does." To all you bachelors out there, don't lose hope. If Fisher did it, ANYONE can do it. Just think of it as trying to catch a fly ball that gets lost in the lights... right Fish?

The Pact

I just returned from Seattle, where Russell and I spent almost exactly 24 hours raising hell. It was an important mini-vacation because of a pact which we agreed on over dinner. Before I discuss the pact, I feel compelled to relate the details of the journey: We met at Sea-Tac Airport at 11:30am, grabbed some lunch, and headed straight for the Seattle Museum of Flight, where we spent the better part of the day. It is an incredible museum and I highly recommend it whether you like airplanes or not. Around 4:30 we hit the Boeing company store, picked up a souvenir or two, and headed for the hotel for a little relaxation before venturing out for dinner.

Ah yes, dinner...

We settled on a place called Elliott's Oyster House which is on a pier in downtown. It was a classy place with conservative decorations, a friendly staff, and an impressive assortment of wines and local microbrews. Russ indulged in a Californian red, while I preferred a Seattle brewery's hefeweizen. We split a tasty fried calamari appetizer before gorging on stupendous entrees. Russ choose theTop Sirloin and Shrimp/Prawn brochette, while I opted for a whole, hot, steamed dungeoness crab. I was quite confused when I first laid eyes upon my dinner. It was, in fact, a whole crab... In it's shell. I called our excellent server Dave over and said, "Dave, I'm just an ignorant midwestern guy. How do I eat this thing?" To Dave's credit, he didn't laugh at me. Russ did. A lot. Asshole. With a bit of instruction I was on my way, and not long thereafter there was a bowl full of cracked crabshell left in front of me. Dessert was next on everyone's mind. Russ selected the sunken chocolate soufle a la mode, and I went with the fried chocolate troufles with ice cream in a pecan brittle shell. In case you hadn't figured it out yet, dinner was incredible. Russell and I agreed it was easily within the top 5 meals either of us had ever had the joy of consuming. The total cost, including tip: $156.

This morning we awoke (both still full from dinner) and headed to Everrett where Boeing builds it's widebody commercial airplanes. We took the hour long tour of the facility which included the 747 assembly line and the flight line where completed airplanes awaited delivery, then raced back to Sea-Tac and parted ways. My flight lifted off at 11:30am. It was, without a doubt, one of the most enjoyable consecutive 24 hours of my life.

So, the pact. While at our mind-blowing dinner, Russell and I agreed that our excursion was simply too much fun, and we had to do things of this nature more often. The detirmination was that once each quarter we had the obligation to embark on a journey similar to our trip to Seattle. So, with some spit and a handshake, we swore that once every 3 months we would find a city of mutual interest, meet there, see the sights, and consume one superb meal. The leading candidates for the February / March excursion are currently San Diego and San Francisco, but there is plenty of time to plan that trip. Right now, it's getting on bedtime, and I have a dungeoness crab to dream about...

The Traveling Public

It must be a huge conspiracy. There can be no other explanation. The TSA, in their efforts to continue to harass crewmembers even after they've passed through the security checkpoint, has boosted the mind-numbing power their metal detectors have on passengers. The end result: every passenger inside the secure area of the airport is a complete idiot until they finish their journey. The other possible explanation is that people really are that stupid.

In all fairness, I realize most people don't know all that much about airplanes, but really...

Lets start with the "what if" questions. Due to the fact that Chicago is full of Cubs fans I refuse to live there, which leaves me with the alternative of commuting to work. So every week, twice a week, I'm forced to board an aircraft as a passenger and sit in the peanut gallery. Invariably next to some obnoxious fat guy, or an old lady who's afraid of flying... In my uniform... I've fielded such questions as, "What if a bird hits the plane?" "What if the wheels won't come down." "What if the pilot gets sick?" And my personal favorite, "What if the wing falls off?" The temptation to say, "In that case, we crash, burn, inhale smoke, and die horribly," is almost uncontrollable. Almost... I even had one guy ask me if a turbine engine had cylinders and pistons, "just like my car engine, right?" It's amazing the likeness between a Ford and a Boeing... To be honest, it's not so much the lack of cognitive thought behind the questions that's the most annoying thing. The worst part is, this is my commute to work. It's the equivalent of having someone you've never met before sitting next to you in your car in traffic in the morning asking you questions about your job in much the same way a 5 year old child would do.

You'd think that once I arrive in Chicago I'd be able to avoid ridiculous questions. Unfortunately, when you wear a uniform at the airport, you might as well have a giant, "Information" sign strapped to your forehead. This environment lends itself to questions like, "What gate does flight 1156 leave from?" There are, on the average day, about 3000 departures from some 200+ gates at O'hare. I have yet to memorize all of them. Occasionally in the terminal, passengers become beligerent. This is actually kind of amusing. While on a mechanical delay once, the following conversation occured:

pax: "What's wrong with the plane?"
me: "Their's a problem with the engine, but maintenance thinks they'll be able to fix it soon."
pax: "Ok, so what's the problem, I'm not stupid, what's really wrong with it?"
me: "There is a small chip in part of the compressor they have to either fix or replace."
pax: "Well we can go without air conditioning, can't we?"
me: (with a befuddled look) "Excuse me?"
pax: "The compressor is part of the airconditioning, and we don't really need that do we?"
me: "Sir, the compressor has nothing to do with the airconditioning on the airplane, it's a vital part of the engine."
pax: "Listen, I told you I'm not stupid, it's gotta be just like the compressor in my car, it runs the airconditioning. Don't lie to me."
me: (pointing out the window) "Do you see that airplane out there?"
pax: "Yeah."
me: "Does it look anything like your car?"

He walked away with an angry look on his face, probably still convinced I'd lied to him.

Finally, what is the deal with the way people walk in the terminal these days? Does the association of fat people decree that their members should all walk shoulder to shoulder in a narrow hallway? It's like a giant steamroller pressing down the concourse, consuming all in it's path. The only respite is when they arrive at the food court and scatter like children in Toys R Us. And how about the people who look one way, and walk in a completely different direction? While 95% of the rest of the world is walking straight ahead in reasonable order, this person is cutting across all lanes of traffic like an 82 year old on the highway. Typically, these kinds of offenders have their gazes fixed on the departure information screens. They have that look on their faces... You know the look... Mouth partially open. Eyes blank. Brow furroughed in confusion. The first hint of drool venturing onto their chin. Clearly the alphabetical order on the screen requires so much attention that walking in a straight line becomes impossible. Thank God they're not chewing gum. Perhaps the worst offenders of all are the wheelchair employees. Whether pushing an ancient ass or not, these psychopaths barrel through the terminal with their chairs like Saddam with a new bioweapon. They reak indiscriminant destruction on anyone foolish enough to stand in their paths, believing that after mumbling phrases like, "Excuse the wheelchair," they have the right to trample you if you don't move. And finally in this category, how about a big round of applause for the parents who strap their kids to leashes in the airport. Unable to make the distinction between their child and their pet, these folks tether their toddlers on 10 foot neon green and blue rope. And you just want to smack the stupid $%&*#+%! It's not like they keep the kid close, where they can do no harm. Oh no! If the kid has ten feet to play with, he damn well better use it all... In the terminal at Chicago O'Hare... The busiest airport in the world... Where the width of the concourse is about 20 feet. The adult holding the leash (and looking far less intelligent than the child at the end of it) doesn't seem to mind that their 5 year old is blocking half the terminal with what looks remarkably like a finish line. The desire to race through the leash at full speed, chest puffed out, arms extended, is nearly overwhelming. Unfortunetly you realize that due to the size of the child and the obesity of the adult holding the child, it will be the kid you send flying instead of the offensive adult.

And you all thought the hardest part of my job was landing the airplane...