There are times when toiling in the slave trade that is work in order to do the very thing you love to do, you find yourself stepping back and asking, “Just why the hell am I doing this again?” Tonight was such a case in point.
Amongst the regular faces we see so often at the this particular airside restaurant, there are those nights when a totally different crowd comes completely out of the blue and on those night the most important thing to remember (in my case anyway) is that 100 low lead gasoline is expensive enough o cause even the best of men to commit devious and murderous acts that even Jeffery Dahmer would find to be in poor taste. As such, I must remain on my best behavior in order to reel in enough of the glorious green in the nights earning to keep my ambitious arse airborne. Lest I be left with an unfueled aircraft, an unpaid instructor, and ( and this is probably the more important of the three although debatable if you’re a hardcore aviation addict) food in the stomach. So even though I would love nothing more that to choke to death the two picky whiny mothers and their collective total of five or six urchins, or beat the on the go jet setter, who believes that he or she has walked into a Starbucks rather than a restaurant, with the nearest blunt object I can get my hands on, I must instead remain cool, let the dice roll and play the face of charming, helpful guy who’s trying to better himself though humiliation against his college degree…
If the winds don’t lay low tomorrow and allow me to get off the ground, I’m totally going to lose my sh&#^….and take everyone who works with me out with me….
Picked up a new toy however that has brought me a good deal of satisfaction and entertainment. I’ve managed to get my hands on a Garmin GPS 195 and for a mere $150 which beats the bejebus out of the two or three hundred I’ve seen these units sell for. Quite the steal and within flying distance, so I not only got in a few worth while hours, I also had a purpose beyond learning on this particular week. A stones throw from LAL is BOW, that would be Bartow for the not flight oriented. Three runways and class D airspace, nothing I couldn't handle. By air it’s only about five or six minutes away. Of course I didn’t waste this opportunity to fly and so a ten minute there and back again trip turned into something like 1.3 hours in the log book as I stayed up s long as I could before having to report to the aforementioned means to the end. A few cross winds landings, some bumpy air, S turns over a road, steep turns, point turns and stall work, all to keep it fresh in my head and hands. For my next magic trick, a cross country with the instructor on board, hopefully with a little night time wedged in as well in the coming week. Till then, short hops and slinging food.
KW
Stay tuned Kids, next entry I rant about the up and coming proposals for General Aviation Fuel prices by our dear and lovely congress.
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