My day started at three in the morning, only four short hours after the last had ended. I was catching a flight from Bagram to Kandahar aboard Gumby, the call sign of a contract twin prop, puddle jumping Cessna. The call sign is appropriate, as my flight was delayed two days due to 'maintenance.' The aircraft is the same type of plane I would fly, if I was catching a commercial flight from Denver to Wyoming.
However, over here, I don't have to deal with the hassles terrorism has brought to airline travel back home, even though I'm surrounded by the dangers of a combat zone. Instead, passengers with guns are expected, and luggage and passengers are not scanned. In addition, passenger are bused out to the aircraft and then become the part of the aircrew, helping load the baggage, and prep the aircraft for take off. This mornings flight was no different. Before loading the crew asked us to help push a trailer packing a generator over to wing in order to jump start the bird. A real confidence builder, especially after a two day delay for 'maintenance.' I quote maintenance, because, on occasion, pilots and crew will call a maintenance day to get a break from the grind of constantly flying the same routes... and in the Air Force maintenance problems reportedly crop up more frequently at the nicer lay-over locations; Spain, Germany, Greece.
Anyway, I was one of only two passengers for the trip and other than being employed as part of the ground crew the pilots treat us like frequent flyers. The safety briefing was treated even more like a formality than any stateside flight and was just short of, "The safety card is in your seat pocket. Any questions?"
My fellow passenger had actually flown with the crew before, so it was more like catching up with old friends. He informed me that the pilot was solid, which was good to know since the bird might be questionable with the recent maintenance delays. However, I was curious how he was able to assess this on a single flight. He must have read my mind, and he expanded on the statement stating that on the last flight the pilot took the plane into a steep banking dive on the approach to land. I'm not sure if this meant he was a good pilot, or the threat level was up, but either way it could make the flight a little more fun.
Once I had my co-passenger talking he didn't slow down. We briefly talked about what each of us did over in Afghanistan, and since I worked on computers he went into a story about his neighbor who also worked in IT, but had also joined the Hell's Angels. Immediately, I pictured a skinny, young kid with bottle cap glasses struggling to keep his hog upright, but apparently the guy actually looked the part, was tattooed, six foot something and over 300 pounds. I guess in reality he would have a harder time fitting into his IT department, which happened to be in the Department of Defense. Or it was, until Uncle Sam got word of his membership in the Hell's Angels and terminated his clearance. Apparently, the FBI was not real comfortable with the idea of a government employee with a top secret security clearance mingling with criminals in a biker gang. Surprisingly, this was a shock to the guy, and he was furious when he lost his clearance and job. However the drama didn't end there, and to add insult to injury, since he had been traveling with work or his bike gang, his wife moved in with another guy. As my single serving friend told me, 'He may have looked the part for the Hell's Angels, but he was huggin pillows on my couch and crying like a baby when the wife walked out.'
Guess it goes to show that you can't judge a book by it's cover. He ended up taking his wife back, and getting another IT job in New York; so he abandoned the neighborhood, and his $230,000 house for the big city where the IT crowd can roll with the Hell's Angels on the weekend, as long as the network doesn't crash while they're raising cain. I can just imagine the guy in a smoky, biker bar room brawl, about to break a pool quo over some guys head. Suddenly he stops, snags a blackberry off his belt, and takes a call from Betty in admin, who is about to break her coffee mug over a computer because the printer won't work. Instantly, he's transformed from killer to counselor, talking Betty down from the ledge with with some user friendly IT speak. The bar goes quiet, and when he finishes the call the rowdy crowd has calmed down, and lined up with their own laundry list of computer crises.
His next story was about the rest of his neighborhood, which was somewhere between Army Wives and Desperate House Wives. The neighborhood is full of military families, and is a secluded loop drive. In addition, the patriarchs are often deployed at the same time, so when they are away the women bond, and when they are home the place turns into a rowdy block party. When the parties break up the revelers often drive home on four wheelers or golf carts, and have been known to drift into the ditch along the road on their short drive down the block. One night, he found one of his friend passed out in the ditch, in a turned over golf cart, and carried him home; only to find that his wife had locked him out for partying too long. The only logical thing to do at that point was set him up on a inflatable mattress on the porch and let him sleep it off, 'til the wife came out in the morning for the paper, and he could roll inside.
The tales continued through the rest of the flight, and reminded me of the thing I liked most about the military: the sense of community and often even family, amongst the ranks. As a contractor I sometimes feel more like an outsider, or observer, looking in on the community that I left. It is mix of nostalgia and loss, but I'm glad I had privilege to experience it, and hope the Soldiers still in the service walk away with similar fond memories.
However, over here, I don't have to deal with the hassles terrorism has brought to airline travel back home, even though I'm surrounded by the dangers of a combat zone. Instead, passengers with guns are expected, and luggage and passengers are not scanned. In addition, passenger are bused out to the aircraft and then become the part of the aircrew, helping load the baggage, and prep the aircraft for take off. This mornings flight was no different. Before loading the crew asked us to help push a trailer packing a generator over to wing in order to jump start the bird. A real confidence builder, especially after a two day delay for 'maintenance.' I quote maintenance, because, on occasion, pilots and crew will call a maintenance day to get a break from the grind of constantly flying the same routes... and in the Air Force maintenance problems reportedly crop up more frequently at the nicer lay-over locations; Spain, Germany, Greece.
Anyway, I was one of only two passengers for the trip and other than being employed as part of the ground crew the pilots treat us like frequent flyers. The safety briefing was treated even more like a formality than any stateside flight and was just short of, "The safety card is in your seat pocket. Any questions?"
My fellow passenger had actually flown with the crew before, so it was more like catching up with old friends. He informed me that the pilot was solid, which was good to know since the bird might be questionable with the recent maintenance delays. However, I was curious how he was able to assess this on a single flight. He must have read my mind, and he expanded on the statement stating that on the last flight the pilot took the plane into a steep banking dive on the approach to land. I'm not sure if this meant he was a good pilot, or the threat level was up, but either way it could make the flight a little more fun.
Once I had my co-passenger talking he didn't slow down. We briefly talked about what each of us did over in Afghanistan, and since I worked on computers he went into a story about his neighbor who also worked in IT, but had also joined the Hell's Angels. Immediately, I pictured a skinny, young kid with bottle cap glasses struggling to keep his hog upright, but apparently the guy actually looked the part, was tattooed, six foot something and over 300 pounds. I guess in reality he would have a harder time fitting into his IT department, which happened to be in the Department of Defense. Or it was, until Uncle Sam got word of his membership in the Hell's Angels and terminated his clearance. Apparently, the FBI was not real comfortable with the idea of a government employee with a top secret security clearance mingling with criminals in a biker gang. Surprisingly, this was a shock to the guy, and he was furious when he lost his clearance and job. However the drama didn't end there, and to add insult to injury, since he had been traveling with work or his bike gang, his wife moved in with another guy. As my single serving friend told me, 'He may have looked the part for the Hell's Angels, but he was huggin pillows on my couch and crying like a baby when the wife walked out.'
Guess it goes to show that you can't judge a book by it's cover. He ended up taking his wife back, and getting another IT job in New York; so he abandoned the neighborhood, and his $230,000 house for the big city where the IT crowd can roll with the Hell's Angels on the weekend, as long as the network doesn't crash while they're raising cain. I can just imagine the guy in a smoky, biker bar room brawl, about to break a pool quo over some guys head. Suddenly he stops, snags a blackberry off his belt, and takes a call from Betty in admin, who is about to break her coffee mug over a computer because the printer won't work. Instantly, he's transformed from killer to counselor, talking Betty down from the ledge with with some user friendly IT speak. The bar goes quiet, and when he finishes the call the rowdy crowd has calmed down, and lined up with their own laundry list of computer crises.
His next story was about the rest of his neighborhood, which was somewhere between Army Wives and Desperate House Wives. The neighborhood is full of military families, and is a secluded loop drive. In addition, the patriarchs are often deployed at the same time, so when they are away the women bond, and when they are home the place turns into a rowdy block party. When the parties break up the revelers often drive home on four wheelers or golf carts, and have been known to drift into the ditch along the road on their short drive down the block. One night, he found one of his friend passed out in the ditch, in a turned over golf cart, and carried him home; only to find that his wife had locked him out for partying too long. The only logical thing to do at that point was set him up on a inflatable mattress on the porch and let him sleep it off, 'til the wife came out in the morning for the paper, and he could roll inside.
The tales continued through the rest of the flight, and reminded me of the thing I liked most about the military: the sense of community and often even family, amongst the ranks. As a contractor I sometimes feel more like an outsider, or observer, looking in on the community that I left. It is mix of nostalgia and loss, but I'm glad I had privilege to experience it, and hope the Soldiers still in the service walk away with similar fond memories.
this was funny, greg. thx for the insight into your in-theatre flights & anecdotes into the lives of others. :-)
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