Catch Me If You Can

The weekend came early.  After nearly two weeks of 8 hours of class followed by studying until it was time to sleep, the Director of Training gave us one last break before the next big push began.  We would be taking Friday off and allowed to enjoy a 3-day weekend. This was an odd feeling.  For the previous two years, with the exception of major holidays and weddings of course, I had worked, flown or studied 6-7 days a week.  Taking three days off in a row would have, at times, been equal to an entire month's worth of days off for me.

Unfortunately, this would be no vacation for me.  When I originally left Florida, I had given myself less than 24 hours to pack, clean and get moved out.  I needed to get back and get everything organized before my lease expired at the end of September.  The 3-day weekend would be the perfect opportunity to get this done. 

The week prior, we received our company pilot/crew badges.  With the badges, we were told that our information had been put into CASS (Cockpit Access Security System) and we were now eligible to jumpseat.  So, I now had a plan; a free one that was, in reality, no plan at all.  

Early in the morning on Friday, I prepared to go to the airport.  Sporting a white dress shirt, black slacks, and my carry-on luggage I walked through the doors to the terminal and made my way down to security.  The most important accessory was hanging from the lanyard on my neck, the ID badge labeled "CREW."  I didn't have a ticket and it was the only way I could get through the checkpoint to the gate. As I approached the security access point, I noticed the twisting and turning of humanity all trying to prove that they were, in fact, not terrorists.  Even at the relatively small airport as compared to Orlando or Los Angeles, there were at least 100 people in line waiting.  At 5am, many were anxiously checking their watches and straining their necks to see what was taking so long.  As older and less experienced passengers struggled climbing through the hoops set forth by the TSA, the people behind them groaned audibly or shook their heads.  Clearly everyone here was is in a good mood.

I checked my phone as I entered the back of the line.  An experienced traveler, I had given myself plenty of time to make it to the flight and not having to check a bag helped incredibly.  As I made my way to the end of the line, a TSA officer pointed at me then beckoned.  "Sir, you don't have to wait in line.  You're crew."  I politely corrected him saying that I wasn't flying today, just trying to catch a ride home.  "It don't matter.  You have a badge, you go through this line."  

There wasn't really any point arguing with the man especially if it would keep me from having to wind mindlessly through the security line.  I walked up, showed him my badge and he put me in the front of the line.  It was an awkward feeling to get any special treatment in an airport.  Even as a cadet in uniform, I never received any special treatment.  Over the years, I had become so numb to the feeling of being just another passenger amongst millions that this sudden movement to the front of the employee line was unsettling.  As I made my way around all those impatiently standing in line, I felt a little embarrassed.  Are they looking me? 

I quickly and effortlessly made my way through security and found myself at the gate.  I had checked the passenger loads of the flights the previous night and flying Delta Airlines to Daytona Beach through Atlanta seemed to be the easiest.  I walked to the counter and met with the gate agent.

"Good morning.  I was wondering if the jumpseat is available today?"  She typed away at her computer and responded affirmatively.  I handed her my badge and my passport.  There was no one else listed for the jumpseat and as long as someone from Delta didn't show up, I'd get it.  The back of the plane (where the passengers sit) was oversold today due to a massive amount of storms that blew through most of the Midwest the day before.  Well, that solves the mystery as to why people were so grumpy, I briefly thought.  How silly of me.  People are always grumpy in airports. This just gives them a good reason to be. 

I was told that 6 flights were canceled out of St Louis and that it didn't look good to be assigned a seat.  I'd most definitely be sitting in the cockpit.  Not more than 5 minutes later, I was called to the podium.  Unfortunately, a Delta pilot had showed up and they wouldn't be able to give away the jumpseat to me.  I've come to learn that 6 am flights are the most missed by people stuck in security or from oversleeping.  Today was no different but, as a jumpseater, I am at the end of the standby list.  Fifteen people missed their flight this morning but I was number 17.  Oh well. 

Have you ever wanted to show up to an airport and just go wherever?  I've often romanticized about being able to show up and get on any plane to go anywhere.  This concept, of course, has always been financially prohibitive.  Today was a different story.  I pulled out my phone to find the next flight out of St Louis.   United Express had a flight to Chicago but it was leaving in less than 20 minutes.  When I arrived at the gate area, it was empty and they were making announcements for passengers to return for boarding.  I politely asked the gate agent if there were any seats available and she quipped back, "Well, if these 10 people don't show up, there will be plenty of room.  Wait around."  

After 10 minutes, only 3 of the people showed and she looked at me.  "Well hunny, this flight has to go.  You're good to board."  I just looked back at her in confusion and asked which seat I was assigned to.  "Whichever one you want.  Well, are you going to board or stay here?"  

Still relatively confused and wide-eyed, I boarded the airplane.  The flight attendant was waiting there in the doorway and I politely introduced myself to her.  She quickly moved out of the way allowing me access to the cockpit.  "Good morning," I said.  "I was wondering if you have room for one more?"  

In the airline world, the jumpseat and any seat to be filled by jumpseating crew members is owned by the Captain.  It is good form to introduce yourself to the Captain and crew so that they know who you are and where you are seated.  As part of the "free ride" you get, it is expected that you help the crew should the need arise.  In fact, the regulations refer to anyone occupying a jumpseat as an Additional Crew Member.  That seems more than reasonable in exchange for being allowed to ride along.

The Captain, first officer, and I exchanged small talk for a few minutes before I politely bowed out to go find a seat.  When the flight arrived, I waited for the last passenger to deplane and made my way to the cockpit once again.  I poked my head back in the cockpit, thanked the crew for the ride and made my way into Chicago O'Hare to find my next connection.  

I felt like a much less handsome and talented Leonardo DiCaprio in Catch Me If You Can as I walked off the plane and into the jetway (as an aside, if you haven't seen that movie, it is excellent.  Stop reading and watch it now).  It almost seems too easy to be able to go wherever, whenever.  I couldn't believe I had just paid nothing to fly to Chicago, a trip that even by car would cost nearly $50.  

Within the hour, I had repeated the process, only this time on a United Airlines mainline flight to Orlando.  The crew, much older and much less friendly, still gladly obliged and I found myself a comfortable seat in the rear.  

After having spent the better part of 24 hours in Daytona Beach packing, I made my way to the airport one last time.  Most of my friends had already made plans for Saturday night, so instead of waiting until early in the morning, I hopped on the last flight out of Daytona to Atlanta on Delta just in time for me to make the last Airtran Airways flight to St Louis.  As I boarded the last flight at 10pm, the flight attended grabbed my shoulder as I left the cockpit to find my seat.  "Here ya go." she said as she handed me a mini-bottle of water.  Thus ended my first and most assuredly not last trip as a stowaway.  

It begins...

I pulled into St Louis, Missouri much later in the evening than I originally planned on Sunday night.  Even though I only spent an hour in Nashville with family on Sunday afternoon and wanted to spend longer, I still had 5 hours of driving left.  Just as my aunt warned, the most boring part of my drive was ahead.

By 8 pm, I could vaguely see the St Louis Arch in the distance. As the "Gateway Arch," a symbol of American expansion into the western frontier became larger in my windshield, I hurriedly reached up to my phone mounted on my windshield so it could capture the rather majestic view of the tallest monument in the United States.  Not long after setting up the camera, the city of St Louis became distinctly visible behind the Arch as the interstate began to twist and turn down toward the mighty Mississippi River.  The river was larger than I remembered it being when I crossed through the city on my way to California following graduation from USAFA and I caught myself staring in awe at the Arch on the west bank.

It was just then that I heard my phone screaming at me to exit.  Cruising in the left lane, I watched my exit whiz by and shrugged while I waited for Google to fix my silly mistake.  The next exit was only a half mile ahead and as I turned another tight turn away from the Arch toward the south side of the city, bright red lights lit up my car.  It was there that I hit gridlock.  I swore to myself for missing my turn as I sat in traffic for the next hour.  After working my way through the jam, I arrived at my hotel to check-in only to find out that I didn't have a room.  I felt a slight panic and just stared at the lady behind the desk.  "I'm sorry, I don't understand.  This is the hotel for Trans States, right?" She replied in the affirmative but didn't have a reservation for me on file.  It had been a long two days and I didn't feel like arguing so I pulled out my credit card so I could get some rest before the long day ahead of me on Monday.

I laid in my bed that night, heart racing.  I couldn't help but feel slightly overwhelmed by the rapid succession of the events of the week.  Then, after a few quick thoughts, I drifted to sleep.

****

At 6 am, I found myself wide-awake in bed, staring at the ceiling.  The shuttle to Trans States left at 7:30 but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get back to sleep.  After quickly showering and more ceiling staring, I walked down to the lobby where I bumped into some of the other pilots anxiously awaiting the van.  I originally planned on driving myself, but decided against it once I started talking to some of guys in my class.  

After a few exchanges of "heys" and "how are yas," all 12 of us piled into the van and rode in silence the entirety of the 5 minute drive to the building.  I wasn't sure what the facility looked like since the interview was held at the simulator facility owned by a private organization.  The classroom training would be held in the "headquarters" building for Trans States Holdings.  

As a brief detour, Trans States Holdings owns 3 different airlines (Go Jets Airlines, Trans States Airlines, and Compass Airlines).  As we rounded a turn, a large, 4-story, red brick building sat on top of a hill overlooking the St Louis Lambert International Airport.  Built in the 1980s as a training facility for TWA, it looked like little had changed since it was originally built.  The windows were nothing more than long vertical slices spaced far apart across the front of the building.  As I walked into the lobby, four 8 foot long replicas of the various airplanes Trans States Holdings owns sit atop a sleek looking stand.  After signing in as a visitor and given badges, we are escorted to our classroom where we will spend the next 5 weeks. 

One of the first things we did was introduce ourselves and briefly explain how we ended up here in training.  Much to my surprise, the experience in my class ranges from a 63 year old Air Force Academy graduate to a 22 year old recent college graduate with many different types of experiences in between.  I was the second to introduce myself and as I listened to the last 10 people tell a brief history, I couldn't help but chuckle.  

One-by-one, each person stood up and told a story.  Most had stories of heartbreak and disappointment revolving around either 9/11 or the Great Recession of 2008.  One person was furloughed; another's airline shutdown and he was so bitter he left aviation completely for a year.  A gentleman in his late 40s flew a cell phone mogul around and the man decided this year to give it up.  He sold his airplane and, subsequently, needed to let his pilot go.  The USAFA grad bounced in and out of airline aviation in the 90s but ended up taking a lucrative job overseas teaching other countries how to fly their new F-16s.  Each person's story was so incredibly unique, but in some weird way, each of them were all the same.  They could all be summed up by saying, "I was hired and something happened.  I wanted to give it up but just couldn't.  I love flying too much.  So here I am."  Every single person in the classroom, with the exception of the two people fresh out of college had gone through significant setbacks, frustrations, and financial hardship but, no matter how hard they tried, found themselves back in the game.  It sounded surprisingly like a support group meeting.  "Hi.  My name is Chris and I am addicted to flying."  

As a whole, the next two weeks went relatively smoothly.  Of course, there are many stories I am going to tell over the next few weeks but, in order to save you all from reading a mini-novel, I will keep this dedicated to the classroom only.  

The fire hose was only partially opened as I absorbed new regulation after new regulation.  As it was all new and mostly common sense, the new information stuck.  It was like adding water to a dry sponge.  I have yearned for years to get to this point, to learn about professional aviation and my brain was up to the task.  My memory, often times akin to a goldfish, quickly digested and cemented the information in an easily accessible location.  In fact, on Wednesday, we took our first 100 question test over the information presented over the preceding week and a half, and I scored a 98%.  It should've been a 99% had I gone with my instinct on one question, but alas, 98% will have to suffice.  I guess I'll have to spend more time in the coffee shop.  

Week 3 begins tomorrow and we will start delving into the more complicated topics of airplane systems.  Jet engines, electrical systems, pressurization, and hydraulics.  From everyone I've talked to, this will be challenging.  One of my friends is at another airline, started the same day as I did and will be flying the same airplane.  He said to me after day one of systems, "shit just got real."  Nothing like a little foreshadowing for my long 3-day weekend.  

Every good thing must come to an end to make room for great things

Last Tuesday was just like any other day.  As I was plodding through my day in New Smyrna Beach, I received a phone call from a St Louis area number.  Instantly, I knew Trans States was calling.  Several weeks ago, I had put my request in to be moved to an earlier class date.  I was hoping this was the call; only 6 day remained before the earlier date was scheduled to start.  Much to my dismay, the conversation was just a confirmation that I would still be showing up to training on the 23rd.  Indeed, I was.  "Oh, and one more thing," I chimed in.  "If anything opens up on Monday, I'd be willing to be moved up a few weeks."  She said she'd look into it and let me know the next day.

In the airline industry, seniority is everything.  As has been witnessed by the last 10 years of bankruptcies and instability, one additional person below you can be the difference between having a job or being on the streets during a furlough.  On a positive note, if you can get ahead of just one more person, you can make Captain that much sooner.

The following day, HR called back and said it wouldn't be possible to move my class date.  After a relatively lengthy explanation as to why not, I resigned to the fact that I'd just have to wait an additional 2 weeks.  Instead, I'd be joining my best friends from Montana in Vegas for a mini-reunion.  I suppose if you can't have one, you might as well have the other.

The rest of the week was relatively painless, all things considered.  On Friday morning, I joked with the Starbucks barista I usually talked to in the morning that the previous day was one of "those" days.  "As I was sitting there talking to a student, I almost threw up my hands in frustration and just walked out of the job.  So, I decided to go to Las Vegas today," I embellished.  I did in fact have one of those days and I was in fact going to Las Vegas in the afternoon.  The two, however, were completely mutually exclusive.  Note to self, your "game" still sucks.

Friday was shaping up to be just like Thursday.  I was sitting there staring at a student while evaluating him on his instrument knowledge.  "So, how to GPS work?" I asked the student.  He merely shrugged back at me.  "Well, look it up," I said exhaling and rubbed my head in frustration.  Another one of those days.  I really wish...

My phone started ringing again and the screen lit up with that familiar number.  The student started talking but I wasn't paying attention.  As I stared at the screen, my heart skipped a beat. Could this be what I think it is?  I quickly rejected the call to send it to voicemail and tried to concentrate on the student as he stuttered through the answer.  My phone buzzed again as Google sent me a text with its best guess as to what the voicemail said.  As with all new technologies, it wasn't perfect, but I got the meaning fairly quickly

Transcript: "Hi Chris, Is got this instead, and we can get you in class if you wanna come on Monday, so call me back."

"I'm sorry, can you hang on for a second?" I asked the student as I walked out, nearly heart racing.  I listened to the voicemail to confirm what the text was saying and Google heard it correctly.  Class starts in less than 3 days.  I'm in.  What about Vegas?  What about my stuff?  After a few quick phone calls to my mom and my uncle, I quickly made my decision.  I was going.

I walked into my boss's office and sat down.  "So, I have good news and I have some bad news."  The fact that I was leaving wasn't news to him.  He knew it was coming and I had told him 99% chance it was on the 23rd with a remote chance on the 9th.  He leaned back in his chair and looked at me.  "Well, go with the bad news first."

"So, Trans States just called me and they want me to start on Monday."  He tilted his head to the side,  told me that it was a good opportunity and that he was happy for me.  

"Okay, " he smiled, "now tell me the good news."

"Trans States just called AND THEY WANT ME TO START ON MONDAY!"  I couldn't hold back.  As I walked back to finish the day I had scheduled, I couldn't help but feel a little bad.  I'd grown comfortable and become successful here.  I caught myself thinking that I should stick around for something better but as soon as those thoughts entered my mind, I remembered all the reasons why I wanted and needed to move on.  It was time.

After the biweekly meeting at the end of the day, I picked up my check and walked out the door for the final time.  I never thought it would happen so suddenly.  I drove home in silence and reflected on my last two years in Florida.  I would be back briefly to pack my things, but the next day I would be essentially leaving forever.  The thoughts were no less humbling than when I left Colorado or Montana.

Exactly two years ago tomorrow, I packed up my little car and headed down to St Pete, Florida to begin this journey.  It was a weird time in my life and, to this day, I can't bring myself to read the blogs I wrote back then.  I'll let you all judge my insecurities, my frustrations, and my sadness.  What I can say, however, is that my time in Florida turned my life around.  I now walk taller, laugh harder and am proud of what I have become.

On my trip to St Louis, I made time to visit family.  My cousin Frankie and his new wife Claire welcomed me for dinner in their new home town of Atlanta.  It had only been a few weeks since I visited Nashville to witness their union and only the third time ever that I'd met Claire.  Even still, I found myself wanting to stay all night to talk and joke. It was something that I would've never done two years ago on the trip down to Florida.  In fact, I remember specifically avoiding places where my family was out of embarrassment of what I had become.  As I left Atlanta, I made a mental note to visit again.  It was clearly apparent that night, on my next day's brief lunch with my Aunt and Uncle in Nashville and after spending the weekend at the wedding with my whole extended family that no matter how poorly I thought of myself, they were always there, standing behind me in support.  Never again will I make an effort to avoid them; on the contrary, I will go out of my way to seek them out.

So, today I begin a new journey.  The last 30 years of my life have contained many challenges but none that I did not conquer.  This will be no different.  As I listened to the overview of the course, for once I looked forward with anticipation.  This is my time to shine.  I smiled.  My, how things have changed.

I want to thank each and every one of you who continue to read this blog.  Every so often, I check to see if anyone is actually reading by checking page views and each time, I am stunned by both your quiet and oftentimes vocal support.  Each and every one of you have kept me going and your support means the world to me.  As I stand at the doorstep of my dream, knocking, I will continue to share my every experience.  I hope you all will join me as I start this new and exciting journey.