I think pilots are a bit smug. It’s the same with priests and doctors. In fact, anyone in a position that commands authority through the use of arcane knowledge seems to have membership to this smug-club.
Non smug-club members couldn’t possibly understand the cleverness of what the Smuggies do. If we did understand, we would join the elite club and wear special robes or uniforms to mark us as better and smugger. These Smugs make sure their clubs are hard to get into by talking in jargon… or Latin. Or in smug tones over the intercom.
Well, I’ve busted the pilot club wide open and I wasn’t even awake at the time. I can now fly a helicopter and it only took me about half an hour to learn.
Last night, without any instruction, I mastered pitch, collective, cyclic, and rudders on an R44 Helicopter (or something that looked like it. My dream state wasn’t too specific about make and model).
I was landing, hovering, sliding and auto-rotating like an advanced beginner inside 20 minutes. By the end of the first part of the dream, I had enough hours in my unconscious log-book for me to convince a guy who owned a general purpose, imaginary, helicopter business to give me a go. He was an astute businessman though. He set me a three month probation period. But, it wasn’t all his way. I was feeling confident and negotiated into the conditions that, “if we could buff it out, it wouldn’t count as a real crash.”
I told Smurfy when I got to work. He said, “What are we still doing here then? Let’s get down to the airport and borrow one of those Black Hawks that are in town for Obama.”
“Oh, Smurfy,” I said, “Silly, unrealistic, Smurfy. I can’t fly anything powered by a jet turbine. Not yet, anyway.”
“Ok, what do you feel confident with then?” he asked.
“I think we’ll be just fine with something made by Bell,” I reasoned.
“That oughta be enough until you log some more hours, then,” he was being supportive, but I could tell that I’d let him down a little. “Why the competency gap with jet-turbine?”
I came clean, “Well, it’s not so much the mechanics, it’s the user interface. I know how lots of sorts of engines work, but I’ve never really seen how you start up a Black Hawk. I know how to get Bell helicopters started because of Magnum’s friend. You just reach up and flick all the switches by the left of your head, to the “on” position. It’s exactly the same as starting the Millennium Falcon.”
“That doesn’t work if your cap’s on the right way round though. Magnum’s mate, TC, swings his cap around,” Smurfy added.
“Right. I’ll have to remember that.”
The other people in the room were a little concerned. At this point. Smurfy hadn’t cracked a smile and I was giving it my best WE COULD TOTALLY DO THIS, face.
“And another thing,” I said. “I’ve watched Das Boot a couple of times so I reckon I’ve got diesel powered subs down pat.”
Smurfy, again a little disappointed, “So, no nuclear?”
“No. I don’t know how far to push those uranium rods in. Total guesswork until I’ve had that dream,” I explained. The North Atlantic fleet was safe for the moment.
Then this morning, I came across this: (Space Shuttle Discovery) and now I know how to get into space. There aren’t that many buttons.
