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Thomas the Tank Engine in “Just Say No to Drones”

It was a bright and sunny day on the island of Sodor, and all the trains were running on time except for one. Thomas the Tank Engine sat with his big engine idling and burning fuel at Sodor Station, waiting for a return call from crew scheduling. “What is it this time?” asked the gate agent. Usually, she was nice and friendly with a big smile, but today she looked cross, and her smile was an angry frown. “We have a schedule to keep, and now your passengers will be late for their connections.” “I don’t know what to tell you,” said Thomas, attempting a reassuring smile. “I’ve called crew scheduling to see where my conductor is, and now all I can do is wait for them to call back. They are short-staffed as usual and probably having a hard time finding someone who is on call.” This news didn’t turn her frown around at all. If anything, Thomas noticed maybe the frown got even deeper. “Why do you need a conductor anyway?” she asked. “Can’t you drive yourself – […]

Yes, Here Comes the Story of the Hurricane

In Florida, before man made global climate change, we had hurricane drills in grade school. We’d learn where the best place to hide was and how to skin, cook and eat alligator. This was before the internet… and apparently before satellite radar. Didn’t they have advanced warning in the 80’s? Did we learn nothing from the Seminoles who we took the land from? Why would we learn how to ride out a storm in school? We were either tougher then or the storms were less severe. Maybe by launching the satellites to better forecast the storms we upset the balance of nature making them more severe. Mother Nature said, “I’ll show you! You can have all of that down there but the attic is mine.” Or maybe the storms are scarier because I am older with more responsibilities, a house to maintain, and a family to care for? When the winds were beginning to whip the trees around and the rain was coming down sideways, I wished I was the college kids next door who were undoubtedly drinking warm beer

Folks, It will Be Yet Another Hour Before We Depart.

Some days, I actually do work. But it’s not the work you would assume. It’s not fighting nasty storms or battling wind shear down the final approach to an icy runway. It’s interacting with the passengers and assuring them that at some point, we will arrive at our destination. I like that part of the job. To my flight attendant friends, I say this: “Yes, I know. When things get tough, I get to close the bulletproof cockpit door. Your job is way harder than ours!” So, I only work a little bit, but it is the part of the job I really enjoy and the reason why I’ve never really been drawn to the world of cargo flying. They say, “Boxes don’t complain,” but it’s these types of fires I enjoy putting out. Our 12:30 flight boarded on time yesterday, and we began our taxi, although I had a hunch we’d be delayed. Nothing official yet, I just had a hunch. We were off to Washington’s Reagan Airport, and both Baltimore and Washington Dulles-bound flights had been issued a

Alert the pitcrew, we’re coming for more fuel

I showed up in DC at an hour usually reserved for raccoons and regret—5:30 a.m.—for a flight to Kansas City, which was only the beginning of this majestic loop-de-loop across the middle bits of America. From Kansas City, I hopped a flight to Milwaukee where a 3.5-hour layover waited for me like a bored TSA agent. There, I stretched out beneath the warm glow of a flickering CNN Airport News Network screen, reporting with great irony on how regional pilots are overworked and underpaid. Sully got name-dropped—as always—while experts explained how the industry is propped up by “commuter pilots,” which I’ve been for over a decade. I stayed with the regionals while others chased shiny jets and got furloughed when the majors tossed their routes back to us like hot potatoes. When I got hired in 1999, my “region” was Pennsylvania. Now it’s the lower 48. Eventually, it was time to board the leg back to DC. Thunderstorms were playing red rover with the East Coast, so we loaded up extra fuel and took the long way around—swinging south, eyeing

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