Typical Day
Major Tom wakes up in Dallas, Texas, a full 1,063.9 miles away from the airport he is based in Phoenix, Arizona—but that’s all a part of his commute. He’s got to fly a plane from Phoenix to New York tonight at 8 P.M., which, luckily, gives him enough time to take the two-hour flight from Dallas the same day. Usually Tommy Boy has to prepare a day or two in advance, even going way out of his way on a flight to the City of Angels and then Phoenix, to make sure he can make a flight that gets him to work on time, but he called ahead and he’ll be able to begin his commute just a couple hours before he’s got to head out to the Big Apple. There may not be traffic in the sky, but when a couple of planes fill up, you’re out of luck. He has to be the one filling the jumpseat—that fancy word those pilots use, not for a bouncy chair, but an extra passenger seat on a flight that is usually reserved for pilots trying to get to work. It’s not like catching the bus or the train, because a day of bad weather could mean he has to take an earlier flight. It’s more roundabout a commute than taking a pogo stick to the office. But, hey, it’s free.
Since this flight tonight is just the start of rotation 4267—and he’s going to end up being on 5-7 flights total (he won’t be flying all those planes though)—he’s got a 5-day work party ahead of him, flying from city to city. So Major Tom gets himself packed with some layover shirts (finally a chance to wear his favorite graphic tees away from the missus), 5 uniform shirts, some toiletries, and his cell phone and laptop to stay in touch with everyone while he’s gone. He basically goes on a miniature vacation a couple times a month…except for all the work he has to do. His wife, Helen, is downstairs waiting to have their morning coffee together.
“Morning, Tom,” Helen says, holding out a cup of joe, “What time do you leave?”
“Well, conditions are good today—no cancellations, the sky is clear, and the flights are looking empty this morning, according to the front desk, but you know how those doofuses are with their computers and everything,” Tom says. He’s a grumpy guy. “So I’ll probably head out around 11.”
They gab on and on for a while and do all their lovey-dovey goodbye stuff, full of melodrama (“Five days? How can I go on?”), just to keep the marriage fresh, and then Tom heads out to the airport and begins all the jumpseating formalities. He gets to the gate where he applies for a jumpseat from a gate agent who immediately assigns him a seat. This paperwork is a pain in Tom’s behind, especially when he has to ask permission from the pilot once he boards, also. This business of all the asking for permission to jumpseat should have died with chivalry, but he’s used to it now. And they always say yes. Unless they’re total buttheads (he’s yet to meet a total butthead).
Tom takes his seat next to a mother and newborn baby (good grief) and a man two sizes too large for his seat (for crying out loud!), but he’s starting to cheer up because he gets to fly tonight.
When Tom arrives he has enough time for a quick dinner before he has to sign in. So he grabs some sushi, immediately regrets getting sushi in Arizona, and buys a burger on the way to the airport. Tom is still chewing his quarter pounder when he clears security and goes down to the pilot lounge (which is less swanky than it sounds). He opens up his computer, signs in, and prints out his rotation.
“Wouldja look at that! That scrappy little Dorothy Deuce is going to be my second in command!” Tom said to no one in particular. Nobody in the lounge reacted to his comment.
Tom was in a fabulous mood, however, even with the questionable sushi sitting in his stomach, because he liked Dorothy. When you have to be working so closely with someone, you’re always going to have to be cordial, polite, and friendly—he spends more time with his co-pilot than with Helen—but if you’re actually pals with them you’re in for a fun rotation. Dorothy was a barrel of monkeys, but she was also there to learn and do a good job. That kid was a great pilot.
Before he gets on the plane, he grabs some earplugs, takes care of a little paperwork (which just consists of checking his company mailbox—for things like airway manual changes and junk), and he’s ready to get on that highway in the sky. He checks the operational systems in the cockpit, puts a decorative throw on his chair (and that orthopedic pillow…it’s a long ride), and the passengers get on the plane while Tom goes down to the tarmac to double check the exterior condition of the plane. It’s so perfect that he can see his own reflection in it, so it is now also handsome. No problems here—it’s back to the cockpit for the “Before Start Checklist”.
Dorothy and Tom share some laughs while they check the headsets and do all the paperwork the ground agent gives them before the plane can move. They do it like total champs and the plane is ready to taxi on over to the runway for departure. He prepares himself for his big speech to the passengers.
“Good evening, everyone.” Tom says over the intercom. “This is your captain speaking. We’re going to be taking you to New York City today. The skies look clear and we should be arriving on time tonight. We have our lovely flight attendants, Balinda and Frank, at your disposal if you need anything. Thank you for flying with us and have a great trip.”
Nailed it.
“Ground control to Major Tom,” Someone says through his headset, “Cleared to take off, runway 3”
“Roger.” Runway 3, here comes Tom and Dorothy, ready to ride the sky.
They take off and soar to New York. The weather looks good, aside from a few storms they need to dodge somewhere over Maryland. They send an email to operations to let them know when they plan to arrive and they send back the arrival gate they need to get to.
“This is Major Tom to Ground Control,” Tom said into his headset, “Are we cleared for landing?”
“Roger. Cleared to land, runway 8.”
They land and Tom motions to his bottom: “Get this mother-loving butt off of this mother-loving plane.”