Read Online A Chick in the Cockpit by Erika Armstrong - Free Book Online
Authors: Erika Armstrong
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laughing, too, and couldnât stop. All of a sudden, I couldnât stop thinking about not saying âfuck.â As soon as I put the microphone to my mouth, I started laughing. It took all my focus and concentration to not say âfuck.â From that day on, anytime I needed to do a passenger announcement, or any type of public speaking for that matter, that darn training captainâs face comes into my vision and I laugh inside as I remind myself to not say âfuck.â
Secretly, each time I began my Before Taxi Checklist, I would have a moment of giddiness mixed with amazement that my hands were going to command a multi-million dollar aircraft across the country. I knew how to do this. I was going to insert my aircraft into this gigantic cog of an aviation system and get us there safely. I was far from perfect and far from knowing everything, but I knew I could handle whatever variety of challenges that were going to be thrown my way. My excitement paralleled my exhaustion. I was quietly putting in eighty hour work weeks at the charter company. Yep, absolutely illegal according to crew duty times, but this was the deal Iâd worked with the devil. I kept the office and invoices churning out nicely and in return I flew every air ambulance and charter flight I could get my hands on.
As a consequence of building those flight hours, I was continuously fatigued and I looked like shit. Iâd put on makeup, but then I looked like shit covered in makeup. Nothing can mask exhaustion. I didnât have time to pay attention to my health, my hair, or my social life. I justified it with the basic excuses, but I look back and know exactly how I earned these wrinkles. Just like handing over my every move of my aircraft over to the control tower, I had handed control of my life over to aviation, and I obeyed every request that was asked of me.
Each flight physical to renew my medical certificate announced a new, elevated level of blood pressure bordering on the upper limit of normal. I just laughed it off, told the doctor he made me nervous, and off I went with medical certificate in hand. I was only twenty-six, but I had turned into a one-dimensional person. The one dimension was incredible and yes, a Weeble-Wobble will always stand back up if you push it over, but no one wants to play with one for very long.
Now that I had been flying with the Evil Empire long enough to break away from the office chains, I was a ârealâ pilot living the dream, and now my obsession was earning pilot in command time (PIC). The confident, skilled pilots would let me fly and log captain time on the empty flight legs, of which there were many because the rich and famous donât fret about being efficient.
The marginal pilots, or the pilots who had egos so big they had to stand next to them, would rarely let me do much more than run the radios and perform the flight attendant duties. I had the most fun proving to those pilots that I was just as good as they were and sometimes, even better. I had to prove to them that I had value beyond reading the Before Taxi Checklist to them.
A perfect case in point happened when I flew with Geoffrey. The Evil Empire had a client who required a two pilot crew for their flight operations (even though it was a single pilot aircraft, their insurance required two pilots), so their pilot would call the Evil Empire and pay for a pilot to serve as their copilot. The client was a local large real estate company who had one full time pilot by the name of Geoffrey. He was one of those pilots who had to include their ego in the weight and balance calculations.
I was the only pilot he would request, and I was so honored that I accepted all the flights, but I absolutely dreaded flying with him. He was such a conceited, dogmatic bore that the hours went by reluctantly on our flights together. He spent most of our flight time complaining about the other pilots and how badly everything was being
Secretly, each time I began my Before Taxi Checklist, I would have a moment of giddiness mixed with amazement that my hands were going to command a multi-million dollar aircraft across the country. I knew how to do this. I was going to insert my aircraft into this gigantic cog of an aviation system and get us there safely. I was far from perfect and far from knowing everything, but I knew I could handle whatever variety of challenges that were going to be thrown my way. My excitement paralleled my exhaustion. I was quietly putting in eighty hour work weeks at the charter company. Yep, absolutely illegal according to crew duty times, but this was the deal Iâd worked with the devil. I kept the office and invoices churning out nicely and in return I flew every air ambulance and charter flight I could get my hands on.
As a consequence of building those flight hours, I was continuously fatigued and I looked like shit. Iâd put on makeup, but then I looked like shit covered in makeup. Nothing can mask exhaustion. I didnât have time to pay attention to my health, my hair, or my social life. I justified it with the basic excuses, but I look back and know exactly how I earned these wrinkles. Just like handing over my every move of my aircraft over to the control tower, I had handed control of my life over to aviation, and I obeyed every request that was asked of me.
Each flight physical to renew my medical certificate announced a new, elevated level of blood pressure bordering on the upper limit of normal. I just laughed it off, told the doctor he made me nervous, and off I went with medical certificate in hand. I was only twenty-six, but I had turned into a one-dimensional person. The one dimension was incredible and yes, a Weeble-Wobble will always stand back up if you push it over, but no one wants to play with one for very long.
Now that I had been flying with the Evil Empire long enough to break away from the office chains, I was a ârealâ pilot living the dream, and now my obsession was earning pilot in command time (PIC). The confident, skilled pilots would let me fly and log captain time on the empty flight legs, of which there were many because the rich and famous donât fret about being efficient.
The marginal pilots, or the pilots who had egos so big they had to stand next to them, would rarely let me do much more than run the radios and perform the flight attendant duties. I had the most fun proving to those pilots that I was just as good as they were and sometimes, even better. I had to prove to them that I had value beyond reading the Before Taxi Checklist to them.
A perfect case in point happened when I flew with Geoffrey. The Evil Empire had a client who required a two pilot crew for their flight operations (even though it was a single pilot aircraft, their insurance required two pilots), so their pilot would call the Evil Empire and pay for a pilot to serve as their copilot. The client was a local large real estate company who had one full time pilot by the name of Geoffrey. He was one of those pilots who had to include their ego in the weight and balance calculations.
I was the only pilot he would request, and I was so honored that I accepted all the flights, but I absolutely dreaded flying with him. He was such a conceited, dogmatic bore that the hours went by reluctantly on our flights together. He spent most of our flight time complaining about the other pilots and how badly everything was being
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