(Revised 12/22/2022)
This is the third installment in the multi-story series which begins with
A Walk Changed Everything
. This segment can stand on its own, but if you want to experience the full universe, that story, then
Havana, Baby!
should be read first.
As with the other stories in the series, this one is immersed in the realm of commercial aviation. There's a lot of technical stuff, but don't let it worry you. It's only used to add color to the characters and the industry in which they're employed.
There's also "administrative" detail presented which isn't necessarily accurate. If you happen to be type-rated on Boeing 737s or work for an airline, please cut us some slack. We'd appreciate it if you would humor us with some feedback instead of a scathing comment. This is fiction, after all. If it's constructive and helpful, we'll probably modify whatever if it helps the story to flow and be even more realistic.
A special thanks to many assorted aviators who helped land this plane.
All characters engaging in adult activities are over the age of eighteen.
We hope you enjoy:
Off To a Rough Start
Tuesday, July 6, 2021 11:40 AM
I knew my day was going to be off to a rough start when my phone squawked at four o'clock. The app which awakened me advised I needed to be at Gate 19 at Love Field by 10:00 AM to pick up a segment. Early rousts are one of the perils of reserve slots for pilots.
I made it there with time to spare, only to learn the flight I was meeting was delayed two hours due to foul weather in Memphis. It was raining in Dallas, too, which didn't help. The gate area was crowded, so I found a seat to camp in farther down the concourse.
I was subbing in and would be the pilot flying the leg from Dallas to Wayne County Airport in Detroit. I was reviewing the rest of the rotation's plans when someone approached me.
"Excuse me, but might I interrupt you for a moment?"
I looked up and saw a woman dressed in the uniform of another airline. The style informed me she was a cabin attendant because pilots don't wear skirts. They'd be impractical for one thing, since, at least on Boeings, there's a control column between the legs.
"Sure."
"Are you deadheading with us? We're about to begin boarding."
"No. I've been pulled from reserve for a flight arriving at Gate Nineteen, but it's behind schedule. I'm hunkering here where it's not so crowded."
"Good—not that you're delayed, but that you won't see me again."
I chuckled. "Why's that a good thing?"
"I'm about to say something I've never said to a stranger, but since we'll not cross paths again, I'll take a risk."
I felt my eyebrows crunch a little in caution.
"You are, beyond any doubt, the most gorgeous man I've ever seen in real life. I hope your day gets better. If you're on one of my flights in the future, let's pretend this never happened."
I laughed nervously. "That's very kind of you. Thank you."
"Bye!" she said with an over-the-shoulder wave as she turned to the jet bridge's door. She was every bit as cute as her words. Not once had I been complimented by a complete stranger, and hers truly improved my day.
That was fun,
I thought with a broad smile and returned to the crossword puzzle I was solving on my iPad.
An hour and a half later, my flight, delayed by a total of four hours, entered the cruise-climb phase.
"We've got a hundred seventy pissed-off people back there, not including the cabin crew. Fair warning, I'm not in the best mood myself."
"I understand, Vic, believe me, I do. Nothing like spending half your day at the airport and barely getting two hours' pay. What happened to your assigned first officer?"
"Craziest thing. We were deplaning, and he tripped over his roll-aboard. He stumbled, and his other foot went down through the rubber threshold of the bridge. His momentum kept moving him forward, and the gate agent had to wheel him out. Luckily, there was a first officer already scheduled for the jump-seat, so he got paid for the flight into Dallas."
"He didn't mind the gap?" I said with a mock British accent.
"Negative," the captain said with a laugh. He held up a finger as a cue when ATC came over the radio.
"Climb and maintain flight level three two zero, Spark 444," he acknowledged, then advised the controller of concerns he had about some clouds he was observing ahead of us.
"I'm not seeing anything ominous," I asked when he was done. I added a weather overlay to my multi-function display, the MFD, to see if the radar was indicating any precipitation. Nothing showed.
His tone was cautious. "Trust me. Those cumuli ahead are going to get bigger. Since you met us in Dallas, I'm assuming that's where you're domiciled. You can't tell me similar weather doesn't occur around there."
"It does, but it still surprises me that Center says they're already prepared for deviation requests."
"It makes life easier for us up here. Now, of the one hundred seventy-six total souls aboard, you're apparently not one of the peeved ones. Why's that?"
I grinned. "Something happened in the airport which reset my mood."
"Oh?"
"A random flight attendant from another company came over to me at the gate I was camping out at—"
"A gal? Was she a cutie?"
"Not important. She was simply … kind."
"Well, if it improved your attitude, maybe you can do the same for our passengers back there."
That's a great idea,
I thought to myself. I'd heard similar advice from another captain.
Another hour of idle chatter transpired before I was asked for the descent checklist.
"With your permission, I would like to do the PA."
Vic laughed. "By all means."
I lifted the interphone and spoke.
"Hello everyone, this is First Officer Mack McGarry. I'd normally say, 'Welcome aboard,' but we're almost to our destination and I'm sure, by now, you're feeling far from welcome. We're on our initial approach into Detroit. Captain Vic, myself, and the four awesome flight attendants mingling about, who probably never want to fly with either of us again, are as frustrated as you with the delay."
I spent perhaps thirty more seconds offering apologies with as much levity as I could muster. I then advised that we were expecting to be at the gate in twenty minutes before I replaced the interphone in its cradle. A few seconds later, I heard it ring in my headset. The captain lifted it that time.
"Hear what?" he asked whoever was on the other end.
"No, but I'll tell him," he said, then hung up.
"Tell me what?" I asked.
"Were you a comic in a past life? That was the purser telling me your announcement drew laughs back there."
"Nope, never. I guess the mood I'm in helped."
"Okay, gotta ask, because you're in a better fettle than should be possible. What did the … kind FA say?"
I repeated the exchange verbatim.
"
Pfft
. You've got to be kidding me," he said with a scoff. "Not once has that ever happened to me. You're going to have to give me more."
"Nearing ten thousand. Airspeed indicating two hundred forty-five. We can continue the conversation when we're at the gate."
"Acknowledged," responded the captain. We'd reached the point in the descent where idle chatter was to be avoided. It was time to talk only about the approach and landing.
Our arrival at Wayne County was completely uneventful. Thankfully.
I was to deadhead back to Dallas, and crew scheduling had arranged a flight for me on a different airline with which we had a cooperative agreement. I approached the gate about fifteen minutes before the published boarding time.
When one works in a particular service industry long enough, one can instinctively read the room. What I sensed as I neared was an elevated level of tension. It was a bit warmer than warm. I checked my electronic boarding pass, as well as the LCD displays at the gate. Both showed an on-time departure, so I doubted people were tense due to a delay. Something else was at issue, and I quickly learned what it was.
"I paid for that ticket! What right do you have to tell me I can't get on board?"
Oh, boy.
"Sir, the flight is oversold. You didn't check in on time. Your seat has already been reassigned," the agent spoke calmly.
"That's
bullshit.
Where's the four hundred dollar voucher you gave the other three people?"
"I'm going to ask you to mind your language, sir—"
"I'll mind my fucking language when you do your fucking job!"
I felt helpless because there was nothing I could do. If I were an employee of her company, I would've placed myself between him and the lady he was haranguing but intervening in the business of another airline was
verboten
by my company's policy. If I weren't in uniform, I might've been able to do something like tell the man to mind his manners. Though he probably had ten inches on me, they were all at his waist, whereas I had that advantage in height.
"Sir!" the woman's voice broke. "Vouchers were offered to passengers who checked in on time. You didn't. Your seat is no longer available, now please! Step aside so I can continue boarding the rest of the passengers."
There wasn't a second person on duty at the gate. Then, it hit me. Though I couldn't get up in her company's business, I could still help. The desk bore the logo of another airline, but all the gates had the same landline telephones.
"Pardon the intrusion, ma'am," I spoke softly as I stepped behind the counter alongside her.
I picked up the telephone's receiver and pressed the button marked "Airport Police."
I turned my back to the agent and upset non-passenger as I calmly and quietly spoke to the man who answered. "Assistance required at gate fourteen. There's an unruly customer harassing the agent."
"On the way," was the immediate reply.
I hung up after the click.
"Help a wayward pilot find his plane?" I spoke to the frazzled lady with a subtle wink.
