Airline Pilot: A Day in the Life

You’re going to fly the big jet today, right? Well, they won’t pay you if you don’t, so better get ready. Let’s start with Task One: closet chaos.

Whatever you pull out of there you’re only going to wear for a couple hours because you have to drag on the polyester uniform and go to work shortly. Worth breaking out a pressed shirt for such a short time? No, but you don’t want to look like a scrounge in the only free part of the day before heading for the airport, right?

Speaking of “pressed,” what about uniform shirts? Gulp–another trip to the cleaners in uniform pants and an undershirt to pick up the uniform shirts you blot out of your mind on days off? Damn, one more thing you should have done yesterday.

That’s the typical “days off” syndrome in the flying career field: once you’re home, you get to ram-dump all work considerations till “Go to Work Day” sneaks up on you again. Bet you’re going to discover on your layover a bunch of junk is missing from your suitcase that you wish you had, and which you meant to replace, but like the dry cleaned uniform polyester hell–out of sight, out of mind.

Anyway, since you have a few hours before flying and a few things you planned to do–okay, sort of said you would but now don’t feel like it but somebody’s expecting you to do it–what’s the plan?

Be diligent? Be productive before the rest of the day is eaten up with flying and work stuff? Nah!

Want to listen? Did this in four tracks. Too much fun.

Screwing off in The Man Cave seems much more important than chipping away at The Drudgery List. Hey, you’re going to be at work for the next 48 hours, right? You deserve a little time with the toys. That income tax return isn’t going anywhere and it’s not even April yet.

You’re going to look and sound great at the next gig this month, right? Anyway, don’t lose track of time:

Your flight leaves at 4:10pm, so you need to be there at 3:10, with medium traffic you need an hour and ten and add another fifteen for construction on 35 and . . .

. . .  YOU’RE LATE!

Too bad you spent so much time screwing around. Oh well. Throw the change of clothes for two days into the suitcase–everything else is still in there and never leaves the smelly bag, along with coffee packets, receipts you don’t want floating around so maids can steal your identity, free stuff you don’t need like “Crest” toothpaste in Spanish from Mexico City and a delivery menu from Ming Wok in Queens–and drag on the polyester uniform. Toss the suitcase and the kitbag into the trunk–look, there’s your hat! It lives in the trunk–and head for the employee lot.

The freeway’s a transition zone, both to and from the airport. Starched shirt too tight going in, your mind on the weather halfway across the country, at the home drome–you don’t really care how bad, just that your inbound jet isn’t late–plans for the weekend, but first you have to get through this trip. You pay attention to the sky on the way in: which direction is the prevailing wind? That’ll determine our take-off direction. Taking off south, but going north means a longer day. You wonder if anyone else pays much attention to the sky when they drive to work, other than noting if it’s blue or cloudy or whatever. The scalloped cloud bottoms look bumpy; you make a note to tell the flight attendants to stay seated after take-off.

Am I the only one running late?

From the employee lot to the terminal wastes a ton of time on the lumbering bus. Time, like the hour before pushback, you don’t get paid for but have to be there. Add that to your 12-hour work day, which will seem endless after midnight body-time when you’re still a couple hours from landing.

Now that’s a welcome sight: tons of aluminum, fueled and ready, waiting for you to kick the tires and light the fires–let’s go fly jets. Pull a bunch of paper out of the computer, including the flight plan, the special notices, technical stuff, aircraft speeds for take-off, a bunch more stuff you really don’t care about but the lawyers want to be able to say “we told you so.”

When the length of the flight plan paper equals the length of the aircraft, you're set to go.

Great. Fold this junk, which is the fine art of Airigami (derived from the word “Origami,” like “Oregano,” which is the Italian art of pizza folding) and stow it out of the way on the flight deck (picture coming up later).

Head for the office:

Meet your happy First Officer–you’re going to be locked into the aerial broom closet together for a few days, so you want everything to go smoothly. Does he look happy?

Well that’s not a bad sign, really. Anyway, let’s get on with the preflight. Stash your suitcase in back, your kitbag in the sidewell next to your seat and sit your fat ass down.

See? Everyone does it.

Time to preflight the aircraft. The First Officer goes outside to check the exterior. You make sure the departure and route of flight is set up in the navigation system. That’s the thing that’ll get you off course and in trouble if the points and route are not correct.

Well, Mr. President, look what your example has done to the youth of America.

Now you’re surrounded by a beehive: passengers boarding, catering trucks arriving and pulling old food carts off, shoving new ones on; the ground crew throwing bags on and readying the plane for pushback, the agent exhorting the passengers to sit down on the P.A., the flight attendants orchestrating the boarding melee, directing bag-stowage and seating and–here’s your job right now as captain:

Just let me know when it's time to start engines.

Actually, you’re ready. You’ve done the checklist and all of your preflight items. Passengers?

It’s the herd mentality, at least as far as the gate agent goes. “Get along, lil’ doggies . . . we gotta slam the door to show the D.O.T. that we’re an efficient airline–whether you’re on board or not.”

So, how's your trip going so far?

But you’re strapped in up front, let’s shoot the juice to the moose and turn it loose. Pushback, taxi, join the line waiting for take-off.

Heading north. Looks like an hour and a half enroute; smooth so far, turn off the seatbelt sign. Watch the sun arc low in the western sky.

Thunderstorms out west, chopping up the sunset.

Land, taxi in and the gate chaos recurs: passengers deplaning, catering, ground crew cleaning the airplane, passengers boarding; your task?

Gut bomb!

It’s the Sonic Chili Cheese Dog! The indigestion alone will keep you awake going to the west coast. That’s not all bad.

That ought to keep you going for a while. And this.

Now back to work. The jet’s just about boarded and ready. More paperwork.

Okay, let’s get this beast back into the air and head for DFW. Still have to make it to the west coast tonight. Another preflight checklist litany; pushback, taxi out, takeoff.

That’s a long sunset, isn’t it? Anyway, racing south to do the turn-around dance again with 140 more passengers waiting to go to the west coast. Same deal for you: the copilot’s outside walking around the jet, making sure all the pieces are still there. You’re in the terminal, checking the weather on the coast, your planned arrival fuel, the route of flight, the weather enroute and the actual flight plan route. Looks good? Sign it electronically, get back to your cubicle:

And the last bank of flights is now pushing back. Join join the aluminum conga line to the west side of the airport, waiting your turn to launch. A steady stream of wingtip strobe lights arc off to the west like fireflies. You start your clock, add full power, barrel down the runway then lift off and join the stream of winking lights headed west.

Leveled off at your initial cruise altitude, at this hour with less air traffic, Fort Worth Center is giving big-ass shortcuts: you’re cleared all the way to northern Utah, direct.  Fuel’s flowing correctly, engines motoring, cabin pressure holding, both electrical generators keeping our little island in the sky warm and lighted and on course.

Now the challenge? Stay alert. When Darling Bride used to fly with you, she’d come up front and marvel at what a warm, cozy little cocoon the cockpit is: the red glow of instrumentation, the purr of instrument cooling air and the view out front–looking straight ahead, it’s as if you aren’t even moving, but rather just afloat 7 miles up over the pin lights of cities below.

You can’t help wondering what’s going on down there, in the homes; the trail of headlights on the freeway, the arteries that spider to all points of the compass. The time goes slowly.

There’s the clock you started when you added take-off power. The bottom number is the elapsed time; another hour and a half to go.

This is not easy: you have to be alert and sharp for the descent and landing–18 hours after you’ve awakened, 9 hours since reporting for duty. Never mind “tired”–you’re moving across the ground at nearly 500 miles per hour. Get out the arrival procedure and get the waypoints and crossing restrictions set in your mind:

Actually, as arrivals go, this one isn’t too complicated, fortunately. Brief up the approach and get ready for runway roulette with Seattle Approach: they won’t tell you which of the five approaches you’re flying until about two minutes before you’re expected to do it. And never mind the radar monitor in Approach Control or Seattle Tower ready to nail you (big, festive fine and/or license action) for any deviation from course, altitude, speed or heading, or the 140 critics waking up in back–you are your biggest challnege: YOU want it done perfectly. Every single time in the past 17,000 flying hours, and those ahead.

Nothing to see outside anyway, because the ceiling is only about a hundred feet off of the runway. Gives you a good two to five seconds at about 160 miles per hour to make sure you’re lined up properly for landing . No problem.

There’s what matters: folks getting off the plane. Safely. Happy. They have no idea–nor should they. You do your work, fly right; it’s what you do.

“That’s a wrap,” you say, as the last passengers trail up the jetbridge and the crew gathers for the trek to the hotel. You’re the last one off the jet, by design. You lock the flight deck door, call the layover hotel for crew pick-up.

The clock’s started: in twelve hours, it all begins again; this time, to the other coast: New York City. Safely, and as smoothly as it is possible for you to make it. No problem–that’s just what you do.

Stay tuned: coming soon–Day 2.

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My Investigative Report: Omaha’s silent tragedy.

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Fly early, or be late.

Fly early, or be late. Here’s why.

First, consider aircraft and crew access. On the first few flights of the day, both the aircraft and crew are beginning their first flight of the day. That’s important to you, because it means they most likely spent the night at the airport. So when you get there, they’re already at the gate, not coming in from a distant location, subject to arrival delays due to weather.

Some important advantages you gain early in the day:

1. If on the last flight the aircraft had any mechanical discrepancies reported, mechanics have had all night to perform any required maintenance.

2. The crew, too, is fresh: their FAA mandated maximum day is just starting. No problems with crew legalities.

3. The crew is together–not the cabin crew coming in from one coast, the flight deck crew from the other. They’re all starting from this particular airport.

4. The maintenance shift has just begun, plenty of time for mechanics to complete any work before shift change. More about that later.

5. Less gate delays: the aircraft is likely ON the gate, not waiting for the gate to become available, thereby delaying their deplaning, your boarding, and the swap of cargo and baggage.

Delays due to crew manning, maintenance requirements, and gate availability are much less likely EARLY IN THE DAY.

Next, think about passenger loads, because they do affect you. Here’s a chart of planned departure times and passenger loads from Denver to Chicago on one air carrier:

Passenger Loads Denver to O’Hare 2-27-10

Flight	Departs	Arrives	Passengers	Capacity
1	0700	0914	65	148
2	0755	1008	71	148
3	0845	1100	110	148
4	0955	1215	127	148
5	1100	1300	165	172
6	1135	1345	138	148
7	1210	1430	142	148
8	1255	1520	144	148
9	1340	1605	255	237
10	1450	1720	150	148
11	1535	1755	181	178
12	1650	1917	155	148
13	1800	2005	135	148
14	1900	2110	142	148
15	1950	2205	128	148
16	2055	2305	101	148
17	2130	2350	65	148

Note that before noon, the flights aren’t quite booked full, but after noon, several are overbooked. Why?

If you’re early, particularly in a mid-continent hub like Denver, DFW or Chicago, no one has been able to fly in yet to connect: the east coast flights haven’t landed yet, and the west coast, hours behind, haven’t even begun to board and dispatch. Which means less competition for seats with standby upgrades or overbooking.

But you’re not standby, you say, right? You will be if there’s a cancellation, especially of your flight. But look at the above chart–your best bet to snag another seat is in the morning. By the afternoon, a bow wave of standby passengers will have those flights packed to the gills.

Once the connecting flights from either coast or commuter connections from outlying areas add their passengers into the hub airport passenger pool, it’s a whole different ballgame. If arrival at your destination is time critical, or if you have a down-line connection the odds are more in your favor early in the day. Later, as the day goes on and delays, cancellations and stand-by lists begin to snowball, not so much.

Here are two other crucial factors that can be largely sidestepped early in the day.

1. Weather.

Sure, there are storms in the morning sometimes. But not the ones that result from the day’s heating and convection of moisture. But even if there is bad weather in the morning, if your aircraft is on its first flight of the day, at least it’s there–and so is your crew. Later in the day, your inbound jet could have to divert because of weather, tossing you into the standby line, or inducing a large delay. Crews, too, start running up against the FAA duty limits due to diversions. Don’t gripe–the FAA limits are for your protection as well as mine: you really want me on duty more than 14 hours for your landing?

2. Maintenance shift change. Why is this important? Simple: because an FAA-certified mechanic is performing licensed procedures on any aircraft. His signature goes on the paperwork certifying the maintenance action. It’s just not workable for one mechanic to do part of the procedure, then have another finish and sign for the entire job. So, if the first flights are at 6:00 or 7:00 in the morning, add eight hours and see when lengthy maintenance actions will probably not be started because they can’t be finished within the shift and so are likely to wait for the next shift. Which means you will wait, too. And I know what you’re thinking, but no–there’s no money for mechanics’ overtime in the sea of red ink flowing from the airline industry. The job will be done right, but you’ll likely wait.

Finally, I recommend you board early. That’s because of human nature: nobody’s going to do as they’re told and put one of their hand-carried items under their seat, then maybe one in the overhead storage bin. If you board last, it’s likely to be you standing in the aisle with a bag but no place to put it.

Other passengers will avoid eye contact with you, acting as if they DIDN’T already hog all the overhead storage space–but they did. And your bag is going to have to be gate-checked, whether you want it to or not. Choose a seat near the mid-point of the cabin if you can, which means the middle boarding call:

I like those emergency exits over the wing. Not only is there more leg room,  it’s also the smoothest ride  because the center of gravity and thus the pivot point of the jet in both pitch and roll are there. No, you won’t see much on the ground because the wing is in the way, but  you also won’t be the last group called to board, and thus be stuck with nowhere to stow your hand-carried items. You also won’t have to wait for the entire aircraft to deplane before you can get off–you’ll be in the middle of the pack.

Okay, got all that? Here’s a summary: early, early, early; booking, boarding, flying. You’ll have a smoother flight with less opportunity for delays.

Good luck, and by the way, don’t look for me at the airport when you get there early: I’m not an early morning person. Since the plane won’t leave without me, I’ll take my chances later.

Lake Tahoe

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Sure, it’s always funny till someone loses an eye.

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Airline Captain: It’s all about the prestige.

Yeah, it’s all about the four stripes. A lot of stuff changes the day you put them on and move into The Center of the Known Universe.

First, there’s the instant recognition from coworkers. They know the reality behind the symbols of authority and reflect that in their very manner. No one resents that you’ve moved to the top of the dog pile; in fact, they fairly burst with enthusiasm for your good fortune and want you to know that.

Oh, we kid, don’t we, on the flight deck? Of course, you have to “keep it light,” right? And the circumstances dictate a gracious demeaner no matter what. I mean, everyone’s looking to you for leadership, and so they grant respect. As a captain, you have all of the authority in the universe once you’re in the air: “you da MAN.”  Yes, we kid face to face, but behind the captain’s back we know there’s a silent respect we can’t see–but you sure can feel it. Eventually.

Yes, you get paid to lead and don’t worry, with the increased responsibility there are perks for you, the leader. First, the posh accommodations that say “welcome to your restful hotel.”

There’s your room! And the floor outside will be vacuumed for you without fail at about 6am. We’ve been waiting for you!

"Honey, I'm home!"

So, you’ll get a sanitary rest, at least to the naked eye, so you can be ready for the next day’s flying and of course, “leadership.”

Now THAT'S a cart I could be proud of.

Rest is crucial, everyone knows, so the  standard is a good eight hours–or at least until the vacuuming starts at dawn–and then a hearty breakfast.

So with those giant carts, why don't we ever see that "Sanitized For Your Protection" strip anymore?

Here you’re likely to see the captain out having a thoroughly nutritious meal, balanced and calorically sensible. The challenges of flight dictate that those at the controls are properly fed and watered.

Paycuts + divorce(s) = tight budget. Sorry.

Other crewmembers might have lower nutritional standards

and that’s fine. But you, “Mr. Captain,” must lead by example.

Perfect Breakfast: "Blow Your Head Off" spicy tofu at O'Hare. Note: block off the forward lav in about an hour.

Because you want to make a good impression on the traveling public, who also look up to you for reassurance.

"Yo, wingnut: where'd they hide the toilet in this airport?"

Further, you have to be confident to earn the respect of the Cabin crew,

plus that of your fellow pilots

who are secretly happy about the fact that you have the four stripes, not them, although they do love to joke around. Never mind that it could be–SHOULD BE–them in the left seat now occupied by your sorry lard ass, no one’s bitter.

"Get out of my seat, old man."

Well at least they seem happy, so why would you think anything different? In fact, the friendly banter is what affirms the captain in his spot atop the flight deck hierarchy.

So you lead on, ever at the helm, with the tacit backing of those who support you. It’s their job to trust the captain and support his leadership, come whatever challenges may descend upon their flight. So you just have to know that they’re “there for you.”

All the pilot banter aside, no matter what it’s the look of sheer admiration you get from the little kids, the one that says “wow, you’re the pilot!” that just keeps you going.

Well, after a day in the sky, on top of the world, it’s time for the captain to grab his luxury wheels

Employee lot, DFW, February 11, 2010.

and head home to the humble yet swingin’ abode his second ex-wife allows him to have without taking him back to court for more alimony.

Car in driveway = roommate made bail!

That’s pretty much “the big picture.” Yes, that fourth stripe makes all the difference in the world to those who wear it. Those who don’t, however, probably know “the big secret.”

Want Fridays off and a half day Wednesday? DENTAL SCHOOL.

But really, why tell that to anyone considering aviation as a career. Why not just let it be a surprise?

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This little device ought to be good for a few fistfights in the cabin. Apparently, you as a passenger put these snap-on clamps on your tray table and magic: the seat in front of you can’t recline. Good for you, bad for whomever’s sitting in front of you, and bad for the cabin crew who must referee the ensuing argument: “What do you mean I can’t recline my seat?!!!” Let the games–and the lawsuits–begin.

The glamorous airline lifestyle.

It’s not just the glamor that makes this job great–it’s the little unexpected “extras.”
Even though we landed last night at 11pm and don’t leave till 3pm today, my crew and I are still at “the short layover hotel” in Raleigh-Durham. That means close to the airport but worse, limited food options.

In this case here at lovely Raleigh-Durham, that means The Wyndham.

Wyndham RDU: in the middle of nowhere.

And this is how I find my room

which is why I don’t have to set an alarm. There will be vacuuming no matter what I hang on my door

Hotel Housekeeping manual: "This sign means vaccum incessantly here at 6am."

Anyway, avoiding the $25 breakfast “scarf-till-you-barf” buffet, I made it till about 11:30am, then had to break down and resort to the dreaded hotel restaurant for a $14 sandwich.

You like plastic plants and elevator music? Of course you do.

Not to worry: with your 10% airline crew discount, this is only going to be a $14 sandwich, with tip.

Decent, huh? Turkey Reuben, fries. What could possibly go wrong now? Look close:

What’s a little fried hair, right? Kind of gives new meaning to their marketing slogan:

I just think maybe a brunette, or some auburn highlights, would be better with fries, don’t you think?

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Things to NOT ever do at the airport.

People don’t like to be told what to do. So, here are some things you really ought NOT do at the airport:

1. You don’t necessarily have to pay to check your bag. Seriously.

Skip this--and the fees.

Just pack a normal-sized bag:

All of these will work.

If your bag weighs over 50 pounds, every airline’s going to charge you and extra $75 to $100 (yes, despite the legend, even Southwest is going to charge you for a bag over 50 pounds). But not if you carry it aboard. So you just take your bag through security instead–you think he cares how much it weighs or how large it is?

It just has to fit through the opening in the screening machine. Take your bag through security and to the gate. Ask the agent at your gate, “You want to gate check this?” They probably will, gladly, to avoid the usual last-minute baggage hassles on board. In fact, they’ll usually make an announcement before boarding to the effect that “if there’s any question as to whether your bag will fit on board, please bring it forward for gate checking.” FREE. This is especially important if you know it weighs more than 50 pounds–which it probably will after you buy more junk wherever you’re going. You like free stuff, right? Here, you just saved at least $50, plus whatever overweight fees you were going to pay.

2. NEVER do this:

Are you nuts?

Why would you put your wallet and watch into an open container and send it off on a conveyor belt to a point where you can neither see it nor reach it? Are you out of your mind?

Let’s talk. First, there’s nothing in your wallet that needs to be x-rayed and even if it did, it wouldn’t set off the screening arch if you walked through with it in your pocket WHERE IT BELONGS (note from your Mom: “Why do I have to tell you these things? Do you not have one lick of common sense?”).

Bag it, so you can find it easily after screening, stash it--and lock it!

Put anything valuable–like your watch, any jewelry, cell phone or if you insist (remember what Mom said) your wallet into a hand-carried bag WITH A SMALL COMBINATION LOCK ON IT.

There. Now when all your stuff goes through the screening arch

but you’re pulled aside to do the “scarecrow” pose while a stranger wandles (“wandle” = the combination of “wand” and “fondle” and you’re likely getting both) you, your valuables are not available for the quick swipe by anyone already through security. And the lock is a MUST: when the security screener asks, “Is this your bag?” he will not be able to open it until you are there to watch, because you don’t have to give him the combo. They can–and will–wait.

3. Don’t depend on anyone to tell you what time or what gate your flight leaves from. Ever. Why?

Because this is 2010, amigo! Pre-program your phone with the phone numbers for:

A. Gate/schedule information.

B. Designated flight rebooking number.

C. Destination hotel/transportation numbers.

Get these numbers from the appropriate website and note: the “rebooking” number is not the same as the reservations number. It’s on your airline’s website–or simply call them before your trip and ask for it.

Of course, this all is dependent upon you knowing your flight number. Not your destination–your specific FLIGHT NUMBER. There may be more than one flight to your destination, so it’s vital you know the number in order to get the correct gate and time info. “Where’s the flight to Omaha?” won’t get you the answers you really need. And in my opinion, even these screens

are less than useful because first, you have to find one, second, they’re often mobbed by what Herbert Nash Dillard termed “the great, heaving, vomiting, unwashed masses”–especially on Southwest–and third, they change often and besides, they only cover an hour or so from the present time.

But look at you all smug and cool because you speed-dialed for the most current gate and schedule information on your cell phone and you already know the latest.

Plus no one stole all your valuables while they lay out in the open on the far side of the screening arch. Right? And you can make the all-important phone call for connecting flight information while you taxi to the gate. Your information will be more current than even what was announced in flight because it’s more recent. And rebooking?

You won’t be in the endless line–which is often outside of security–because you rebooked on your cellphone as soon as a cancellation was discovered. Probably only by you because you shrewdly called. Shhhhhh; quietly proceed to the new gate and get your seat before Herbert Nash Dillard’s group discovers the change.

4. Finally–and this is just for me and every crewmember you might see–don’t ask where the bathroom is. I mean it.

Think about it for a moment (you don’t want Mom chewing your butt again, do you?). The airport, like any public building, has restrooms. If you don’t see one right away, you choose a direction, left or right, and walk till you see one.  Do you have to go so bad that you feel the “right or left” choice is life or death? If so–poor planning. Consider a diaper–if the shuttle astronauts wear them, you can too.

Mostly though, I really don’t want to be aware that you have to go to the bathroom. Although like most crewmembers, with difficult people I keep the “stray dog” maxim at all time: “don’t make eye contact,” but it’s not foolproof. If someone still insists on asking me where the restroom is, I usually ask them, “number one or number two?” People actually stop and consider and are about to tell me when they eventually catch up with the basic norms of decorum and adult personal responsibility. “That way,” I tell them, pointing either right or left, because sooner or later they’ll find a restroom.

I could go on–and likely will in a future blog post–but these four tips will put you way ahead of the traveling masses and make your trip both cheaper and less frustrating.

I know–no one likes to be told what to do. So here’s what not to do and please, listen to me, or you’ll probably have to deal with Mom when things go haywire–and . . .

". . . it's your own fault because you didn't listen, did you smarty pants?"

Besides, when it comes to Item #4, “yes, you should have gone before you left the house.” Thanks, Mom.

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The oriental salmon salad! What’s not to like?