No longer an Airline Captain and I've Lost My Mojo

GolfHotelWhiskey.comAutopilotFromtheMovieAirplane I’ve been an airline Captain since 2001. With a recent airline change I’m a First Officer again. The copilot. Just like Kareem Abdul-Jabar… and the guy who sat next to Sully. I’m one step up from Otto the autopilot in Airplane. I should have made business cards that said “Cool Jet Captain” while I could. (Mental note - change my voicemail greeting from Jet Captain to Seat Filler.)

I’ve switched seats and I’ve lost my mojo. I don’t know where to put my pen. My right hand moves to push the buttons even though they're on my left side now. And damned if I can’t make passenger announcements anymore.

For years I’ve been saying the same thing to the people in the back.

THE.SAME.THING

“Folks, this is your Captain speaking. Blah blah blah. Weather is blah blah blah. There is going to be a few bumps on our climb out blah blah blah.”

But now I start in with “This is your….”

And I’m lost. Flatline.

My inner voice screams “LINE!”

But it’s just me. No cue cards. No teleprompter. Just me… your copilot.

And I think I’m pretty dexterous on my toes. I had a six grade teacher tell me I need to think before I speak. She didn’t mean it as a compliment.

I can’t think before I speak. It just happens. And without the normal cadence of “This is your Captain speaking.” I’ve got nothing. Flatline.

Oh, and you know those pilots that walk around the airport with their sunglasses on? You laugh at them on the inside because they think they’re so cool? Maybe they’re also new and have lost their mojo too?

I was on a dusk flight soon after I switched seats and titles and the sky was getting duskier on final approach. I even made a comment to the actual Captain about how dark this new cockpit I’ve found myself in was at night.

He agreed though surely he knew what the solution was.

And then I said something about the taxiway lights being an unusual hue.

And then I stood in the doorway and said goodbye to the passengers face to face. Eye contact.

And then I went up and got a cup coffee at Starbucks.

And then back in the cockpit I said something about how my phone screen suddenly had a reddish tint. “Maybe it’s reverted to some strange astronomer night mode?” I said.

That’s when the Captain commented on my rose colored sunglasses.

“I don’t know what to tell you Elton.”

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What I Did Not Do During My Summer Vacation

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I was on vacation during the month of July. I ceased all work related activities.

I also didn't...

  • Read a USATODAY
  • Eat airport food
  • Shave
  • Tell a passenger their flight cancelled... just for the fun of it
  • Turn my back and walk away from the TSA while they attempted to explain the rules
  • Make small talk with a new hire pilot about what they flew before this
  • Set an clock alarm with a pencil so as to not touch the buttons with my fingers
  • What CNN Airport News Network
  • Wear a tie
  • Watch sailboats from the cockpit of jet wishing I was down there
  • Iron anything
  • Get excited about finding a People, US Magazine and OK! in the same seat back pocket
  • Ride in a hotel van telling horror stories about flying with my crew while one non-airline person cries silently to themselves in the back
  • Send my phone through an X-ray machine with the "Get me out of this bag!" ringtone set to fire in T minus 10 seconds
  • Drink an emergency shot of airplane coffee
  • Wear a five point harness (almost though. Considered racing a go-cart)
  • Use outlook for email
  • Touch a thrust lever
  • Do a checklist (making a list now. Close)

It was a blissful month away from the airport. I return to the cockpit tomorrow. I just hope they didn't move any of the buttons around.

Captain Dad - I Called Maintenance Control for a Toy Helicopter

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My work life and home life collided yesterday when my son complained that his toy Hess helicopter wasn't working as it was supposed to.

“My helicopter won’t fly anymore!”

It never flew. The blades spun. It lit up. It made lots noises. But it never flew.

In his world it did though. And now it did not. The batteries were dead. Naturally, they died while we were in the car. Away from fresh batteries.

I suggested maybe we should take it to the helicopter doctor. In hindsight… this wasn’t the best approach. Although I liked the sound of helicopter doctor and it sounded pretty damned cute when he said it, it got pretty old when he refused to do anything but go to the helicopter doctor.

“I think maybe the doctor is not in today.” I said.

“I want to go to the helicopter doctor.”

“Actually, they are not accepting new patients at the moment. I called last week for mommy’s helicopter.”

“I want to go to the helicopter doctor now!”

“There is no such thing as a helicopter doctor! I made it up… just like I made up that story about the aquarium being closed. Are you kidding? You fell for that! Sharks not coming out during the rain? I just didn't want to go run through the rain when you’d probably be bored as soon as we go there!“

This is what I wanted to say.

I made this bed. I had to sleep in it. Or work on another lie.

I tried explaining that I felt pretty certain I could fix the helicopter by putting new batteries in it. But I lost him when I started complaining about how much I hate the toys that don’t have an auto off feature because the batteries run out and that the manufacturers were in bed with the battery company.

"Doesn't it bother you when the train is running incessantly under the couch clicking and clicking and clicking with nowhere to go?"

“Can we go to the helicopter doctor now. Please?”

I told him I’d call the doctor and see if they had any advice since I didn’t have money for the copay anyways.

“Okay. Call the helicopter doctor.”

In the cockpit both on the ground and in the air there are times when we call the airplane doctor for advice. This happens pretty often actually. Most things are fixed by rebooting the airplane. This can only be performed on the ground… for obvious reason.

For the problems that Ctrl - Alt - Del can’t fix the mechanics over the phone sometimes can run through a procedure with us.

“Jiggle this or smack that with an open palm. Not a fist… and open palm.”

When this doesn’t stop the smoke from billowing out of the engine they send out the big guns with tools to the rescue.

I was hoping to nip this one in the bud with a phone call.

Luckily my son is used to seeing me with a headset for phone calls. If he was expecting a two way speakerphone call the jig would be up.

“Hello, helicopter doctor? My son is having trouble with his helicopter.”

-Pause-

“What is the problem?” I yelled to the back seat.

“It doesn’t fly anymore.”

“Yeah, he says it doesn’t fly anymore.”

-Pause-

“What color is it?”

“Green, and white.”

“It’s green and white.”

“And red and black and grey and yellow and it doesn't make noises anymore.”

“It’s a lot of colors. He says to jiggle it a little and smack it with the palm of your hand.”

He started beating it. Violently. Hey, doctors orders.

“Okay, the doctor thinks that maybe it needs a new battery. He says that when we get home I should put a new battery in it and if that doesn’t work to call him back.”

"Okay, let’s put a new battery in it."

"He also says that you need to take a nap and eat your green beans.”

"The helicopter doctor is nice."

"Yes he is." I replied. Relieved.

Crisis created. Crisis averted.

And peace was restored.

The Time I Told an Aviation Icon I Didn't Have a Business Card

Filed away years ago as, "Well, that sure was stupid."

Once, I met Southwest founder and former CEO, Herb Kelleher in the airport. We talked at length and I got the impression he liked me. He suggested as much. And then he asked for my card. To which I replied, "I don't have a card. I've never had a reason to carry one."

It started like this. I was working a flight from Washington D.C. to Dallas and we were delayed for weather. We had boarded and were at the gate and I made a few announcements that the weather was looking bad in Dallas and we would wait a bit longer and hope for the best but there wasn't much more we could do. I like to make these announcements using the flight attendant’s PA so I can be face to face with the passengers when I deliver the news. Especially if I'm having a good hair day. In this case, I had to make the announcement a few times until the final, "Well, it looks like we are not going anywhere" speech.

The flight was cancelled. Again, I like to stand at the door when the passengers leave so I can take the punches away from the flight attendants. Mr. Kelleher got off last and I thanked him for his patience.

My first officer had to tell me who that last passenger was. I wasn't aware.

"I wish I knew." I said to him. "There is so much I'd love to ask him."

But I ran into him a little while later coincidentally sitting in the gate area of my next outbound flight which was in the opposite direction of Dallas. I thanked him again for his patience and asked if he was still going to Texas. "Are you flying standby?" I joked.

We talked for about thirty minutes about the state of the airline industry and what the future had in store. With the recent consolidations, his predictions came true.

Herb is a tall man. So am I but when he stood he towered over me in his trench coat and hat. He stood several times during our talk. We would talk and the conversation would get animated and he would stand and I would stand and then shrink next to him. I asked him about my current employer and he poked me with his finger and said something with several expletives about how we should dare not mess with Southwest or something punctuated by several expletives would happen to us. To anyone watching they would have assumed I was about to get my expletive kicked by this older fella.

We talked about pilots and personalities and when we shook hands to part ways he said, "I really like you. I like your sense of humor." And then he asked for my business card.

To which I inexplicably replied. "I don't have a card. I've never had a reason to carry one."

Yes. I said, "I Don't Have A Card".

We shook hands and went our ways.

When I got back to the cockpit it hit me. "What a moron! What was I thinking!"

It's a well known legend that Mr. Kelleher wrote the first draft of the Southwest business plan on a cocktail napkin. I yelled back to the galley, "I need some cocktail napkins!"

"Did you spill something again!" Is what I heard.

"No! But I need some napkins!" I answered.

I quickly scribbled my contact information on the napkin. We were done boarding and due to push back soon and I told the gate agent I'd be just a second. In my head I'd leap from the plane over the gap into the jetway, run and give Mr. Kelleher by information. I'd say breathlessly, "My cocktail napkin, Sir."

But he was nowhere to be seen. He was gone.

That night I ordered a thousand business cards and carry one everywhere I go. I still have nine hundred and ninety nine.

I later used my "cocktail napkin" to clean up spilt coffee in the cockpit.

Is the First Officer Actually a Pilot?

Wright-BrothersSince the beginning, there have always been two pilots up on the flight deck. Had it not been for the Wright Brothers, maybe we'd only have one seat up there. It's a common misconception that the First Officer (commonly referred to as the copilot in the movies or 'gear monkey' in real life) isn't really a pilot. This is false. They are just as qualified as the Captain. The real question though is... are they essential?

This takes us back to the Wright Brothers.

Pilots are narcissists who need an audience. We need someone to laugh at our jokes and make us feel important. We need someone to entertain us when we get tired of monitoring the autopilot. We also need someone to humbly do the dirty work so we can keep our hands clean.

This need for validation is  what encouraged the Wright Brothers to take to the skies in the first place. That and sibling rivalry.  The day Orville beat Wilbur in a bike race is the day Wilbur said, "Oh yeah! I'm gonna put wings on a bike! Lets see who's laughing then, Bro!"

And the race to the air began. While the endeavor initially was a game of one-upmanship, soon the master/sidekick team was traveling the world demonstrating their magical flying machine. The modern First Officer was born. Orville out getting the Flyer ready, Wilbur winking to the ladies in the audience, drinking his coffee and passing out rectangular wings to the kids.

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Yes, of course the first aircraft only had one seat but as flight durations got longer than a single hill the sole Pilot in Command grew tired of hearing himself tell the same corny jokes out loud and demanded a second seat be installed for comic relief. It was only natural to bring along the guy that new almost as much about the airplane since he was out preflighting and making sure the Captains name was painted crisply and legibly under his window. Oh, and if the paint was chipped... There would be hell to pay.

So, a second seat was mounted but had no actual controls. It was there simply to hold a warm body. And to balance the airplane, of course. (As planes got longer, flight attendants were also added for this reason.)

In time, as aircraft reliability increased, naturally the First Officers abilities improved as the bar for excellence was lowered. A natural medium was found balancing the skills of the cockpit crew. A give and take relationship has developed where the copilot is there to ensure the Captains ego isn't damaged by laughing at his jokes and ensuring the flight is operated safely so no paperwork has to be filled out.

They are essential flight deck officers who may be replaced by Siri now that we can use our portable electronic devices through all phases of flight.

I'm just not sure an Iphone can run the checklist so I can concentrate on what I will say to Letterman or Anderson Cooper in the event of an unlikely water landing.

What You Should Not Ask Your Flight Crew

railroad-conductor We obviously spend lots of time around the humans. We are in the service industry after all. Day in and day out we spend our time carrying you, your loved ones, your bags and your 'service animals' from here to there with ease. We do this with a smile on our face. Not because we get paid exorbitant amounts of money to do so but because we love it. It's in our blood. Even though the means of travel have changed, the drivers and their staff have stayed the same.

"All aboard!" I shout from the cockpit window up to the terminal waving my Captain's hat through the morning fog while confirming the departure time on my gold pocket watch. Children watch with their noses to the window wondering what far off land I will be steering this magical flying machine to. My passengers are waving from their windows as we sail away. Except for the ones in steerage. They are angry.

But while times have changed, I wonder if the passengers have remained the same? Did they make small talk with the ship Captain before they set sail while he was busy doing what ever those guys did back then? If the train conductor was walking through the cars stretching his legs at the end of a long day on the rails was he bothered with small talk from the humans?

"So, what is your route?" They may ask him.

"To and fro." He'd say. "To and fro."

The "what is your route" question is the most common one you can ask. I'm sure there is a bit of intrigue to our lifestyle but this question lacks in all originality. I lie every time I'm asked this one. Unless the questioner is a nun. To them I always tell the god's honest truth. "It will be very bumpy and there is always a chance something could go very wrong."

But if you were to ask, "Of the places you go which is your favorite?" I'd give you a full answer. Unless I'm eating at the one table that is very far from anyone else.

"That's a great question. I'm so glad you asked. It's not what you would think really. We may spend the night in what sounds like a great destination but may be stuck in a nasty hotel with no entertainment options nearby. Conversely, we may stay somewhere you'd never expect would be fun but we have lots of time with plenty to do. But, to tell you the truth. Most of the time we stay in the hotelville next to the airport that looks like every other hotelville. A few American chain restaurants and a couple of big box stores. All I really care about anymore are lobby waffles... and good shower pressure."

Another good one.

"My neighbor has a sister who is a pilot. Do you know a lady named Mary? She has dark hair."

Often, if I even entertain this question, it turns out Mary neither works for the same airline or even is an airline pilot. For these questions I find it best to answer something else. "Yeah, I think gate 35 is down there. That flight cancelled though."

I walk away when someone starts a conversation with, "So, I just watched the movie Flight."

Don't get me started with the number of times I've heard, "But you wear glasses?"

Luckily, this one doesn't come up anymore, "Are you old enough to fly this plane?"

Don't make any jokes about booze.

Flight attendants take it personally when you suggest they look tired and you ask if they've had a long day.

And unless you are engineer who has worked on aircraft design, are a meteorologist or have been to space I'm not going to talk "shop" with you.

I like talking to people. I really do. This is why I choose to fly for a passenger airline instead of a cargo one. I enjoy interacting with all types of travelers in the airport. Even when times are tough. Especially when times are tough. It's the passengers that ask questions just for the sake of talking. The ones that don't really want to have a conversation they just don't want to be alone. Those are the ones I test my phone volume around so it sounds like its ringing.

If you have an honest question, ask away.

Just don't call me 'Skipper." 

Living in Hotels - It's Us or The Bedbugs

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I spend about a ten nights a month in hotels. I’ve been doing this job for fourteen years. I’ve slept (or attempted to sleep) in a hotel bed roughly 1700 times since then. I’ve learned a few things about survival along the way. I’ve not caught any nasty infections, have maintained a relatively healthy immune system and have woken up most mornings rash free. How do you stay so healthy while galavanting around that petri dish, you may ask? Very carefully.

I have a fine tuned hotel regimen that I will now offer you so that you too can wake up looking like the happy and well rested humans on the poster in the elevator. “Good Day? No, Great Day!”

First off… Everything is Hazmat. Every time your skin touches anything that didn’t come from the airlock chamber that you call your suitcase needs to be sanitized immediately. And remember to respect that airlock and treat it as the clean room that it is. It is your only fortress of solitude in the battle between you and the microscopic threats that are everywhere. Don’t put it on the bed or anything else that probably is infested with bedbugs. I bring bungee cords and suspend my luggage from the shower curtain rod. I coat the cords with hand sanitizer after pulling them from their home in the jar of rubbing alcohol. Most mornings there is a pile of dead bacteria directly underneath. I snuff out the barely alive ones with my shower shoes.

Yes, shower shoes… Always wear shower shoes! They aren’t just for the shower. They are your best friend soldier. Anytime you march along that war zone they call ‘vacuum annually carpet’ make sure you lace up your boots. One morning you will wake up and feel a pile of goo where your foot once was and regret that you loaned your shower shoes to that hobo in the last campaign.

Never touch the alarm clock, TV remote or phone with your bare hands. Strike that. Never touch anything with your bare hands. You know where your hands have been but you have no idea where the hands of the thousands of other vagabonds who have used those things have been. And most humans have two of them so you need to be especially cautious. After sanitizing my body upon entering the room I wrap my hands and forearms in garbage bags and rubber band them off at the wrist and elbow. For the entire evening I interact with the world through this glorious layer of plastic. Resist the urge to touch you face and dear lord don’t eat anything. Once the outer layer has been compromised it can only be used on tainted surfaces. Don’t touch your toothbrush or cell phone. Don’t fiddle with your Ipad. All those are off limits now. And for goodness sake, don’t touch your face!

A common question I get is how to eat in such a virus laden wasteland. It’s a tough one. I’m not gonna sugar coat this one. The microwave is off limits because I’ve known too many people who’ve dried their socks and undergarments (you know who you are) in the microwave so your only option is food from your safe place, your suitcase. Bring your own utensils, too. Avoid the urge to eat food dropped on the floor or mattress. Leave the three second rule at the front desk when you check in. Remove your garbage bag protection, disinfect your hands and eat quickly without touching anything. If the TV is on and the shows ends, suck it up and watch Two and Half Men until you are done.

A common misconception is that it is safe to remove your shower shoes in the shower. Wrong. Your body’s immune system is no match to the layer of filth that has evolved along the bottom of that porcelain deathtrap. Even shower shoes aren’t enough. Tiny monsters with foot fetishes can easily scale the inch of plastic that separates you from instant toe fungus. I soak several bath towels in Lysol concentrate and line the shower floor with them. I use the pine scented variation because I like it when my feet smell like a forest afterwards.

And back to bedbugs. There is nothing you can do about them. They are everywhere. You will get them. You will itch. You will wake up with bites and take them home to your family. It's a gift from the road. A free gift that you will be reminded of every time you look at your once supple but now pockmarked skin. It's your badge of honor or your Scarlet Letter depending on which side of your bedbug infested bed you woke up on.

Using these tips I’m sure you can enjoy your stay in hotels like I do and make it the home away from home you deserve. Word of advice though. If you’re watching TV and a news program airs about hotel cleanliness it’s best to turn it off quickly. Be sure to turn it off before they get to the part about TV remotes. When they shine the black lights on that germ magnet it illuminates like a light saber. You’ll be using your Pinesol smelling big toe to unplug the TV from the wall.

Also, get rid of the bedspread. That thing is garnish that gets washed annually.

But They Do Have Free Breakfast

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When I was a young airline pilot and new to ‘the road’ I ranked hotels by their proximity to good food and entertainment. Now, I judge hotels on two things: internet speed and shower pressure.

Oh, and free breakfast.

I’m not even a breakfast guy. But when it’s free – I’m a kid in a carb filled candy store. I pirouette around the kids begging their parents for another ‘home-made’ waffle with my tray of stale bagels, English muffins and knock-off Cheerios (Crunchy O’s, for the record). I feel like a malnourished Fred Astaire with a bowl of generic biscuits and gravy dancing to CNN Headline News.

Some hotel meals are better than others. Some are simply offering something so they can entice the road warriors. This way they can add another checkmark on Hotels.com along with “In room safe” and “Fitness Room”.

At least they can say they have a gym.

I stayed at a hotel once that had a bagged loaf of bread next to a toaster with a tub of butter and a communal jar of jelly by its side. Jelly is so much more filling when a knife full has bread crumbs and chunks of butter from the last freeloader mixed in. But hey, it was free and I passed the solitary knife to the pilot to my left when I was done and recognized the Stockholm Syndrome look in his eyes. I said, “Here you go Patty Hearst.”

People who aren’t in the industry always assume our life is like a vacation won on Price Is Right. “Oh, you’re going to Chicago?! You need to go downtown and have a pizza at Gino’s East and then take a stroll down the famed Magnificent Mile.”

Let me tell you what that involves. First of all… we often don’t have that much time. Often twelve hours in the hotel in which some of that should be for legitimate rest. So let’s say four hours in the hotel. Subtract getting ready in the morning and washing the funk from the airplane off you when you get to the room. Two hours remain. We typically stay near the airport which is rarely near anything unique to that city. So now it’s a cab ride for this pizza… a roundtrip cab ride that’s thirty minutes each way. We’re looking at a fifty dollar pizza that has to be sucked down so you can get back to the hotel in order to wake up early enough to enjoy free breakfast in the morning.

Typically dinner is at another American chain restaurant that is within walking distance to the hotel. And regardless what State we are in, we can look out the window of that restaurant and see a Bed Bath and Beyond, a Wall-Mart or a Home Depot. “Anytown USA”. These restaurantvilles are the evolution of the truck stop. And before that they were the saloons the pony express riders would stop in to share stories from the road.

“Oh, you’re riding west through the Nebraska Territory? Don’t stop in Omaha. They don’t have free breakfast.”

Why it is Imperative you Land a Pilot

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This article was floating around Facebook today explaining why it is imperative you land a pilot. 6 reasons to be exact. Since I am a pilot, I figured I’d explain my reasoning why scoring a Jet Captain should be on your to-do list. While you may find a man irresistible who gets paid to strap himself to a hurtling piece of metal for a living think about this: that same man safely brings that metal back down to Earth while dodging birds, kites and the occasional errant birthday party balloon. How sexy it must be to imagine him in the cockpit driving the airplane to the gate as quickly and safely as possible because he needs to use the restroom after pounding coffee for the last few hours. Even though these notions are enticing enough, let me tell you other down to Earth reasons why dating a pilot is a real treat. And if you’re so lucky to marry one, I’ll tell you the secrets you have in store for you. I should know. I am a pilot.

If you’re into jet setting.

Being with a pilot means you get bootstrapped to your throttle jockey’s pass privileges. This is not automatic though. He may already have his drinking buddy listed as his ‘domestic partner’ so they can take free trips down to the islands or Vegas together. Once you’ve proven your worth though, imagine traveling for nearly free as long as there are seats available on the flight you are hoping to climb aboard during peak traveling season when everyone else is willing to pay to get there. You can look forward to off season trips to cold beaches and icy ski slopes. And while travel is cheap you aren’t afforded any extra privileges in the TSA line so if you get bumped from the flight because there is no room for your cheap ass you can go home with the memory of being harassed and possibly man handled by a security agent – for free!

Built in breaks.

As much as you may love your man it’s nice to spend some time apart. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, as they say. If your pilot is junior in the airline you can look forward to him being away even more often giving you even more time to watch bad tv alone on the couch. And because he is junior you can look forward to Wednesday night date night because he will be working weekends and only be home a few days during the week. If you have a normal nine to five job you will enjoy many weekends out with your girlfriends telling them about how awesome your new man is. Practice this speech because you will be telling it again at all major holiday gatherings until your flyboy is seasoned enough in the airline to hold a decent schedule.

Conquer your fear of flying. Was your grandmother surprised when you told her you were dating an aviator? Did she remind you of your fear of flying and the time you peed on yourself when you were a little girl? Well, any fears you may have had will be as easy as a bed time story when he comes home and tells you about his day. If he brings another winged warrior over and they have a few beers then you’d better leave the room and start packing depends before you fly. Your fears will be realized when he casually tells you about the near misses, low fuel warnings and the time he volunteered to be the ‘pathfinder’ through the storms just because he wanted to get to the hotel before the restaurant closed.

Everyone likes a man in uniform.

And who doesn’t love a veteran pilot in a season uniform? You’ve enjoyed a four day break from your Jet Driver while he’s been out dodging storms, avoiding calamity and spilling coffee on himself. You can’t wait for him to come home. Imagine the love you will feel when you see him walking from the car looking fine in his stripes. He’s been gone for four days and to avoid overloading his suitcase with extra bulk he’s packed just one uniform. The one he is wearing… the same one he left wearing four days ago. Maybe he spent a few extra hours in the sun waiting for a late hotel van or a little extra time in the rain kicking the tires of his jet. He’s not just your pilot. He’s your road warrior. And he has the smells of the road to prove it.

Free stuff Your man will bring you all kinds of gifts from the road. You will never want for little bars of soap, shampoo and if he is really cheap – really bad toilet paper. Your bookshelf and magazine rack will be stock full of gossip magazines and bad fiction. Your couch throws will be thin airline blankets and your pantry will be full of snack mix and V8. You will never have to go to the Dollar Store again! And you thought you had it made with the last nine-to-five guy you dated. His free pens and office supplies don’t stand a chance next to the bad wine mini bottles he will pull out of his flight bag.

As an airline pilot I can assuredly say that my wife made the best decision of her life when she chose me. She’s a lucky lady and repays me with endless bottles of sunscreen to keep my weathered skin healthy and kicking for many years in the sun to come.

Being a Pilot is Ruining Me

I'm not gonna go into all the obvious hazards of flying likes skin cancer, alcoholism, divorce and controlled flight into terrain. Those have been covered before. It's the day to day stuff that is killing me. It's not the job... it's the lifestyle.

Although I may only fly a few hours a day, if I am away from home, I am working. I am working even when I am sitting in a hotel bed flipping through the channels with an ice bucket bag over the remote so my fingers don't have to touch it. I am working when I am wandering around an airport not getting paid looking for a place to hide from passengers so I can read without getting hassled about where to buy a neck pillow or pick up luggage. I am also working when I'm risking life and limb in the back of a hotel van with a driver too old to operate a toaster oven - especially when the kitchen floor is iced over.

Since the career I have chosen for myself is a lifestyle and so much a part of my life, it has affected me in ways that I'm certain most other careers don't affect their human resources. In many ways, it is ruining me. Our monthly schedules are produced a few weeks in advance and will tell me when I work and where I am to go. Our "trips" can be between one and four days long depending on your preference and how senior you are. These trips all start and finish at various times throughout the month as well as during the trip itself. For example, during a month period I may work 3 four day trips with two starting at sunrise each day and one with the first departure during Wheel of Fortune.

The last time I had an alarm clock set for the same time every day of the week was high school. The last time I ate with any regularity was college. Think about what that does to your body. Coffee breaks happen on all sides of the clock and I have a white noise generator on my phone that is supposed to help me fall asleep at sunset. Ever hear the one about the insomniac dyslexic atheist? He spent all night disproving the existence of dog.

There is one basic rule in flying. Always have a plan B. For a variety of reasons, plan A doesn't always work out and it's nice to know ahead of time what your options are going to be before you need to make that decision. A pretty big one revolves around fuel and where to find it when you need it and how to save it just case you can't get to more. After two decades of training... my mind starts to race a little when my fuel gauge gets close to empty - in my car! I can't focus on anything else other than what's my long range fuel plan, where is the nearest gas station and is said gas station downhill in case I need to coast in?

I take the job pretty seriously and don't consider being late to work an option. Although I often joke to the humans in the TSA line, "Don't worry, the plane waits for me", I get a little anxious when I'm running behind. My only other jobs have been in radio and television where the show has to go on and tardiness isn't an option either. Therefor, I'm a pretty punctual individual. Not only that, our schedules in the airlines are predetermined down to the minute and seconds count. Outside of work, I'm a down to the second kind of guy. If I call with an E.T.A, I may be seven and a half minutes away. When your work is time based - your life becomes time based.

Although the idea of travel sounds glamorous and romantic... most of the time our accommodations on the road are in hotel-ville near the airport. These modern wagon trail towns are all the same and have about as much personality as a spaghetti strainer. There will be an Applebee's. There will be a T.G.I.Fridays. There will be a big box store. "Oh you're gonna be in (insert any town - anywhere)? You must go eat at (insert any restaurant - anywhere)."

A good trip has a home depot nearby where I can wander around and read the books in their 'library'. Also, nice if the hotel has good shower pressure. There was a time when I wanted a good bar nearby. These days I like fast internet and strong shower pressure. Ruining me!

Now that being said, I'm not sure I could put up with any other professions. I'm sure each has their hazards just as troubling. I'll update my resume to say I'm a well bathed, punctual insomniac who is paranoid about running out of gas.