|Would you wanna climb this?|
I noticed a little ancient sign permanently driven into the dashboard of the plane. It said "It is strictly prohibited to perform acrobatic maneuvers and tails spins in this aircraft." Really? I reminded the pilot of such, and he promised me he would try to restrain himself. All hooked up, we took off, me ready at the drop of a hat to take over piloting responsibilities should something have happened to the youngun' at the helm. In the back, poor Darryl. Poor, poor, Darryl. The only source of heat was in the front of the plane, and the reason why I had to scale Mt. Everest was because there was another cargo net holding more cargo behind me and the pilot. So that even if we did a nose dive crash, and Darryl lived to tell about it as the people in the tail have a better chance of survival, he would have been pancake material due to the impact of flying cargo, once the net disintegrated. As it was, we could barely see that he was turning blue. And the tail swing was not due to turbulence, it was due to Darryl's uncontrolled shivering. Eventually he pulled a Michael Jackson, he had pulled a blankie from the end bowels of the aircraft and covered himself from head to toe. I wasn't sure if we would find a warm body or a popsicle, but in the end, neither of us was Heaven bound.
|Would love to be able to soar like this fellow. In Mexico, |
where he is from.
And just as I thought it couldn't get worse, the airline that had been grounded was up and running by the time my contract was finished. A little 8 seater twin engine fishing line bob. A few of the folks on the same flight had obviously been hitting the liquid Ativan before hand, so once in the aircraft with club seating, I was hoping the "fumes" would calm me down. As we careened down the runway (the winds were high), I grabbed the seat back of the guy next to me, the window ledge, and finally the knee of the guy next to me. Once in the air, we were like a rubber duckie passing through Class IV rapids, up and down and all around. I think I was the in flight entertainment. The inebriated young man in front of me, once he finished laughing, started talking to me about all of the issues up North, and I concentrated on his every word, to spare the knee skin of the other guy next to me. Eventually, the air calmed down, he finished talking, and actually thanked me for listening, because sometimes he just needed to get things off his chest. Maybe it was the whiskey baited air I was breathing, or the conversation, but I thanked him for nursing me through this wild little flight, and thanked my lucky stars for the Flying Tubes of Death I am normally transported in.
|The Great White North|