7 posts from June 2006

There's something about ketchup/catsup/whatever that comes in the little foil packets from a fast food place (in this instance Jack in the Box) that just tastes significantly better than my bottle in the fridge. Same brand.

I've wondered about this for quite some time. I should have been a scientist so I could research these things.

How do dogs know when you hang up the phone? I was laying on my bed this afternoon while on the phone. I was on the phone for about an hour. When I hung up, my dog came over for attention. How did she know I hung up? She was unable to see me from where she was. It was my cell phone, so it doesn't beep or anything when I hang up. And I didn't move from the spot I was in right away. Yet in less than 10 seconds she was there...panting. I thought it was a fluke, but she did it again this evening when I hung up with my wife.

I need answers.

Oh, hands down -- Police Squad!

I fly for work a fair amount. Not long distances. Usually just between Southern and Northern California. But it's pretty much at least once a week.

When you fly that much, you tend to get to know some of the airport staff at least by sight. The girl who checks your ID and boarding pass before you get to the X-Ray machines has become one of my "airport friends."

The past couple weeks I've been flying even more than usual, seeing my "airport friend" several times a week. On Thursday afternoon I passed her in the terminal and exchanged hellos. Less than 12 hours later, I was back at the airport at 5 a.m. for another flight up. I get to my airport friend, hand her my ID and boarding pass.

She looks up and says, "You need a vacation."

"You shook me all night long" by AC/DC tends to work pretty consistently.

As a matter of fact, it seems most songs that come to mind are also songs that will get me a speeding ticket if I happen to be driving at the time.

"Sweet child of mine" by Guns 'n Roses. Dang, I'm more of a rocker than I thought.

I need to balance things out a bit. Howabout also "These are days" by 10,000 Maniacs. That works, too.

So, yesterday I get on a plane to fly from Ontario to Oakland. It's a 6 a.m. flight. Means I've been up since 4ish. So, bleary-eyed I get on the plane and sit by this older guy. Now, I tend not to sit next to older guys because they tend to like to talk. I don't. I tend to like to scowl. In silence.

The guy is in his 60s. Nice enough. Dressed in yellow polo shirt, pot belly struggling to be set free from the binding of its cottony restraint. Skin looks as though he's had a career working in the sun. Fairly likeable actually, just to look at him. So, as expected, dude starts talking.

Small talk. Asks me what I do, etc. Since he was a likeable enough guy, I gave him more than one-word answers and even asked reciprocating questions. He tells me he's a semi-retired pilot. Now he ferries planes for an electronics company. He's flying up to Spokane (it's Southwest, he's just learned that he's going by way of Oakland/Reno/Boise) to fly a plane down.

I'm kind of an airplane buff, so I ask him what kinds of planes he flies. He goes on to tell me he's been flying since he was 15. Spent his career flying. So, I ask him what kind of flying he did before he was semi-retired. He says he did a lot of "contract flying."

"Contract flying?" I ask. "What exactly is that?"

He tells me he would sign up for three or six-month stints of flying. He goes on to tell me he mostly flew in South America. How he flew mostly modified C-47s, which were really a WWII airplane that had been modified with high-performance engines and behemoth landing gear so it could take off and land in the jungle clearings of South America.

Now I was confused, I couldn't imagine why this guy would be flying in some foreign country from grass strip to grass strip.

He went on to tell me that sometimes he would carry "personnel" and sometimes he would fly equipment. The word "personnel" struck me. That's not a word one would normally use. I ask a few more questions and he tells me how he flew near US military bases, but never was allowed to interact with US soldiers. Not that the soldiers would have anything to do with them anyway, he said. Then, with a bemused look on his face, he says, "The name of the outfit I worked for was 'The Republic Oil and Equipment Company.'"

Without missing a beat, I shoot back "Psh, that totally sounds like a CIA front."

[...]

[...]

He gives me a knowing half-smile. "You didn't hear it from me."

DUDE WAS A FRIGGIN' CIA PILOT DURING ALL THE IRAN-CONTRA STUFF! HOW COOL IS THAT!?!

This had officially become the best plane ride of my life. Although he didn't talk specifically about things, he spoke of the oddities of flying some "personnel" and equipment into an area one week. And then the next week he'd fly to the same place and those people he just dropped off were now taking that equipment and shooting it at him.

Now, dude was really talking.

He told me about a time he was flying in Turkey. He and his co-pilot (an avid golfer who took his clubs with him everywhere) were flying in a rather treacherous sandstorm. They drop to just a few hundred feet off the ground in the middle of the desert. Suddenly the co-pilot yells out "Turn around!" Dude, now startled, asks why. "I think I saw a golf course!" Dude circles back, in the sand storm, and sure enough, there in the middle of the desert, miles away from any kind of water source was a lush, green golf course. Turns out later they met the sheik who owned the place. He was educated in the US, fell in love with golf. So when he returned, he built one. He has the water trucked in. In 23 giant tanker trucks. Daily. It's good to be the sheik.

It's a quick trip from Ontario to Oakland and our flight was nearing the end. As I was leaving (remember, he still had to go to Reno and Boise before getting to Spokane), I wished him well and noticed a book he had tucked into the seatback pocket in front of him. The top of the book was sticking out just enough for me to see the author's name. Who else? Tom Clancy.

I'm totally blogging. Look at me. Totally. I'm blogging.

What a nimrod. Shut up.

But I am. I'm blogging. Totally.

But I'm blogging.