The Dream

As long as I can remember, I've wanted to fly.  Hours upon hours of my life have been spent looking up at the sky in hopes that one day I would be there.  I don't remember when the formation of the dream started.  I believe that you are a sum of your experiences and that each one, no matter how small and insignificant they may seem, ultimately shape the person you become.  So, I will start at the beginning.

My second cousin, Bobby, graduated from the US Air Force Academy in 1987.  My grandma, being his aunt, flew out for his graduation and purchased a child-sized Air Force Academy shirt and gave it to me as a birthday present the following August.  Subconsciously, this would be the beginning of the journey.  I don't remember wearing the shirt or even knowing Bobby went to the Air Force Academy.  In fact, when I first started looking into Service Academies my freshman year in high school, my parents reminded me that I had a cousin who went to USAFA.  It was a surprise to me. 

My first real memory of aviation happened several years later when I was probably around 6 years old.  My Aunt Connie had recently become a flight attendant for Northwest Airlines.  She invited our family to the airport in Cleveland where she was on a layover.  Being my first real memory of flying, I'm sure my parents would have a more accurate version of the story but I'll do my best.

This was a time before terrorism, before stuanch security.  Anyone could walk through the metal detector and sit at the gates.  Airports like Cleveland and Akron-Canton had observation decks beyond security where ticketed passengers or their friends and family could sit and wait for flights to arrive and depart.  I don't remember walking to the gate on this occasion, but I do remember walking up to the gate and seeing a jet in person for the first time. I stood there at the window looking at massive, strange object in front of me.  To a small child, this was the biggest thing I'd ever seen. With my face pressed to the window, I stared wide-eyed at the plane staring ominously back at me.  The windows to the cockpit were its eyes and they were dark and soulless.  I was scared. 

I wasn't quite sure how airplanes worked but I knew when you got on them, they flew and went places.  My aunt walked up and wanted to take me on board to see the cockpit and meet the pilots at which I staunchly refused.  I remember someone, probably my aunt, grabbing my arm and trying to coax me into the jet way   As I closely examined the gate door, the hallway seemed to be never-ending as it curved out of sight toward the plane: an abyss.  I knew that if I walked through that door, I was never coming back and the thought of the plane taking me away brought me to tears.  "What's wrong sweetie?" I vaguely imagine my mom asking.  "I don't want to get on the airplane.  I don't want to leave" I said hysterically.  No force in the world would get me on that thing and my family eventually gave up. It was a near miss for me.

Not more than a year later, my aunt started dating a man named Charlie.  As a fighter pilot in both the Navy and Air National Guard flying A-6s and F-16s, as well as an airline pilot for Northwest Airlines, he would become the manifestation of my dream.  For your viewing pleasure, I've included a link to his epic crash.  Yes, that's him (A-6 Carrier Landing Crash).  My fascination for aviation started at a very young age but he would be the one to give it legs.

When I was 9, my parents drove the family to Detroit where Charlie would be performing an F-16 demonstration in the Selfridge ANG Air Show.  In a time before cell phones or GPS directions, my family showed up late as always.  To this day, being late unsettles me and this was no exception.  I don't know how we met up with my aunt, but I do remember we found her just in time for Charlie's demonstration. She wanted us there earlier to meet him, but alas we didn't make it. At some point, a strange man in a flight suit showed up, introduced himself, and took us up to his squadron where we could get some food and a better view of the show.  It was fascinating seeing the jets flying so loud and so fast. The most vivid memory I have from the event followed shortly after we arrived in the squadron.  As I sat in the wood paneled room, I watched a jet come screaming down the runway and disappear into flames as it struck the ground. (Selfridge Crash) I don't know that my young mind understood what happened that day, but it is a memory that has stuck with me and one that surely has impacted my life.

At some point during my childhood, my grandma met a man who worked for Goodyear.  They traveled all over the world and even lived in places like Turkey and Jamaica.  When I was in 3rd or 4th grade, my family flew down to Jamaica over Spring Break to visit my Grandma for Easter.

This was my first ever trip in an airplane and boy what a trip it was.  We arrived at the Akron-Canton Regional Airport, a small airport servicing the two small cities in NE Ohio early in the morning.  At the time, the airport was very small and served only a handful of flights each day.  Our particular flight was on Northwest Airlink with service to Detroit.  My dad, always quite the joker, called it a "puddle jumper" and "mosquito plane" based on its relative size and the noise the propellers made compared to the rest of major airline jet fleets.

The engines started and I remember thinking how loud they were for such a small plane.  Our family was in the back row of the merely 30 seat airplane as it took off and "puddle-jumped" us to Detroit for the 30 minute flight.  I sat in the window seat and stared in awe at the ground.  Everything I'd ever known, the houses, the cars, the roads, were so tiny.  I watched as people went off to work but their movement reminded me of a world brought to you by Mr. Rogers.  The view was fascinating, so fascinating that I still remember staring down from my seat in the sky to this day.  And then it was over.  As we walked off the tiny prop plane and into the incredible Detroit Metro International Airport, I couldn't believe how fast it went.  It seemed like only minutes had gone by since we took off and here we were, in another state.   "Dad!  Time flies when you're having fun!" My dad, never serious and always joking responded, "time flies when you're on a plane!" Oh dad.  

As we walked into the terminal, I took control of the boarding passes.  I'd been checking out the same 3 books in the library over the past year about airplanes.  It was a picture book and detailed jet engines, passenger jets and their various configurations.  At one point, my teacher came to me and told me that I had to check out something different.  I'd been rotating between two or three books for the majority of the school year.  Well, if they would've had more plane books, maybe I would have checked out a different one!  This newly gained expertise somehow gave me the confidence to take over the trip.

I marched out into the terminal and looked for the signs to our new gates.  My mom smiled in amusement as I, completely serious, lead us to our next gate.  Surprisingly, without hesitation or even the slightest hint of being lost, I guided us through the endless caverns of Detroit-Metro to our transcontinental flight to Miami.  For those of you who remember the old Detroit airport, you would know how big of a feat this actually was.  I walked straight to the window to see what kind of plane it would be.  To my surprise, it was the same plane as the one I had faced-off against in Cleveland not long before.  The large jet was sitting at the gate and it wasn't long before it was our turn to board.  I held the boarding passes and when our row was called, instructed the family to get up and get in line.  Never a smile, never shy, I marched us onto the plane and to our seats.  Present day Chris really wants to go back in time and tell young Chris to CHILL OUT!  When we got onto the jet, I was amazed at its size.  There were three rows on either side of an isle that seemed to go on forever.  Naturally, I took the window seat again and couldn't help but couldn't help but notice how quiet the engines were when they roared to life.

After several minutes of taxiing around the airport, I felt us line up and stop on the runway.  In seconds, the engines spooled up to a near deafening roar as the brakes were held.  Then, as the pilot released the brakes, the jet launched down the runway seemingly on the verge of being out of control.  I sank in my seat as I felt the world fall below me and watched in amazement as I watched it do just that.  No longer could I see cars or buildings.  I just saw a vast earth below, devoid of life but scarred with fields and roads from some ancient civilization. It was then that the exhaustion from the early morning and the excitement of the previous several hours caught up to me.  Within minutes, I was sleeping soundly against the window.

The trip back was uneventful until we arrived in Detroit.  A spring storm had developed and the plane had gone in for maintenance or was delayed into Detroit, I can't be sure of which one.  I remember my dad and mom getting frustrated at the lateness of the flight.  Day soon turned into night and the world outside the airport suddenly seemed ominous and scary.  We eventually boarded the plane in a light rain with lightning off in the distance.  As we made our way to Cleveland, I can imagine the pilots picking their way through the storms.  The ride was incredibly turbulent and passengers around me were getting sick.  I was scared but did my best to focus on the seat in front of me and not on the flashes of lights appearing in the dark nothingness of the clouds around the mosquito-shaped propeller plane.  Behind me, someone seemed to scream that our wing had hit by lightning but I never lost composure.  I never let any weakness show.  On my birthday, my dad called me and, not knowing I was writing this, reminisced back to that day.  It was nice sharing that memory with him and I chuckled to myself as he told me he'd never set foot on a tiny plane like that ever again.

From a very young age, aviation has had an incredible impact on my life.  Outside of a few direct interactions, it has lived mostly on the periphery of my life.  From time to time, my grandma would take my sister and me to the nearby airport and let us roam around the observation deck.  I would stare at the magnificent planes as they sat dormant at the gates.  Every so often, one would taxi out to take off or land and taxi in to the gate.  As a gift, she also gave me a radio that could tune to Air Traffic Control frequencies.  I would spend afternoons on my bed listening to the  radio chatter while I played with a model of an F-16.  Even as a young adult, this fascination didn't fade away.  No matter where I was at, whether on the football field or the baseball diamond, when the gentle roar of a jet could be heard approaching, I would stop what I was doing and see what it was.

I took some time to reflect on my 30th birthday.  So many things have lead up to who I am today.  As 18 year old Chris stepped on the plane as a civilian for the last time before heading to the Air Force Academy, you couldn't have told him that more than a decade later, he would have left the Air Force to pursue the dream of aviation.

I am pleased to let you all know that I have made a decision.  After considerable reflection and exhausting research, I've decided to head to Trans States Airlines based out of St Louis, Missouri.  They do most of their flying as "United Express" and I will be stepping foot in an Embraer Regional Jet (ERJ-145).  In a little over a month's time, I will say goodbye to the Cessnas and Seminoles of Eastern Florida as I head to five weeks of training in Missouri and most likely ending up in Washington D.C.  I haven't arrived at my dream yet, but this is one very important and significant leap in the right direction.  For the first time in a long time, it seems like the ball is finally bouncing my way.

This is the airplane I will be flying

The World is My Oyster

It is weird to think about what I was doing two years ago.  At the beginning of July, much of my time was devoted to the Squadron's fireworks booth.  I was a peddler of explosives; they were colorful but explosives none-the-less.  In the early days leading up to the 4th, a kid on his bike would show up each day to buy snaps or firecrackers.  After reluctantly relinquishing his dollar, he would scurry across the street to promptly blow them up.  The more I think about it, the more I realize how truly bizarre my time in Montana was and it was only fitting that I should end it working in a temporary shed selling fireworks.  

After the epic climax of explosions on the 4th, I began to slowly leave the Air Force.  In a week, I would seemingly step in every single building on base and have my "Out-processing Checklist" signed by yet another organization I'd never heard of before that moment.  It was a frustrating, yet necessary evil.  After a few final appointments, I left Malmstrom AFB for the final time.  

On July 16th, 2011, I packed up every belonging I had into a Penske Truck with the help of a few friends, attached the vehicle carrier and pulled my little white Subaru onto it and strapped the car down.  I drove down to my hotel room which was conveniently next to my favorite pizza restaurant, showered, and had my last meal in Montana.  Several friends came to say goodbye that night.  We all shared pizza, beer, stories and not long after it started, goodbyes.  I walked the hiking path back to my room and couldn't believe it had come to an end.  My best friends had left me months ago, but so much of my existence had been the Air Force that it felt weird to be leaving.  

Very early the next morning, I woke up, hopped into my truck and drove to Starbucks.  If I was going to drive for 8 hours, it would have to start with a cup of my favorite coffee.  I had become a regular there and said my final goodbyes to them as well.  Within minutes, my giant yellow truck drove out of Great Falls for the last time.  The sun was just rising over the Great Plains of the United States as I headed east away from the Rockies, back to Ohio for the first time since leaving 9 years before.  

On the afternoon of the 21st, almost exactly 2 years ago to the minute, I drove through my hometown and pulled up in front of the house.  It is weird to think about.  Why is this significant?  I sat down today in the Starbucks next to the beach to do my usual routine.  As I grabbed my cup of Earl Grey tea, I let the little Netbook I had bought from Target at the beginning of July 2 years ago boot up.  When I sat down to get started, I downloaded the last week's worth of flights from the app on my phone to the program on my computer.  As the bytes traveled from my phone, to the nearby cell tower, to some server on the other side of the country, to the Starbucks wifi and to my computer, I made my schedule for the next day.  When I opened the program again, it greeted me with a relieving sight:

HOURS: 1501.1

For the last 2 years, my future has been in doubt.  With the exception of a few holidays and weddings, I've worked 6 days each week for the better part of two years.  I am exhausted and burnt out.  I've clawed and begged each day for more flying.  Finally, it is here.  While my future is far from certain, my options seem limitless.  In the last week, I've been offered class dates at one airline and have set up interviews at two others.  It seems like my life is headed that way and I think it will be a good thing.  I've done my research; I've narrowed down my choices.  The only thing left is to make the decision.  Just jump. 

On the 2 year anniversary of leaving Montana, I think I'll take another giant leap into the unknown.  After applying for and graduating from the Air Force Academy, after sticking it out through 4 years with nuclear weapons, after 6 months of training, and a year and a half of 10-12 hours days, 6 days a week, hopefully I will land on my feet: staring at my dream.  There is a lot more work ahead of me and you better believe that I'll continue to share it with you.  Thanks everyone for your support.  It means more than you could ever know. 

A Conundrum

For those of you that know me, you know that I don't take many decisions lightly (except traveling abroad apparently).  When I first decided to make the leap into aviation, I spent hours upon hours each day researching flight schools, loans, and the airline industry as a whole.  After several weeks of scouring the internet, I made the decision to attend flight school and eventually ended up instructing in New Smyrna Beach.

Now, I face another incredibly important decision, one with so many unknowns and an overwhelming amount of information and variables that my head is spinning.  As my Aunt used to say, write it down...get it off your mind.  So, I'm going to do just that. It would also help to have an outside opinion as well, so feel free to give me your 2 cents! 

History

Following September 11th, 2001, the airline industry took a major hit, understandably.  With a combination of an unprecedented drop in passenger demand combined with an equally unprecedented rise in fuel prices, one-by-one, major airlines (Delta, Continental, United, Northwest, etc) fell into bankruptcy.  For those that remember, it wasn't unheard of to get on a plane outside of busy travel seasons and have them be half empty.  

As the major carriers started to fall into the red by the hundreds of millions, many analysts said the demand would never rebound and that small jets would the wave of the future.  Before 9/11, very few regional jets existed and most regional airlines comprised a very small fraction of air travel in the United States using mostly propeller driven aircraft.  Then, there was the explosion in the regional jet market.  Major airlines began furloughing pilots and subcontracting out some of the short-haul flying in small markets to regional airlines. 

Odds are, very few of you have actually heard of many of them (Expressjet, Skywest, Trans States, etc) because when you fly, you just think of them as the name on their tail (United Express, US Airways Express, Delta Connection, etc).  In reality, the major airlines have contracted out flying based on a bid produced by the regional carrier.  Because regional pilots are less experienced, they are able to provide the flying for much cheaper than the more experienced pilots in larger airplanes at a major carrier. The plummeting profits combined with the lack in demand accelerated this "out-sourcing" of flying over the past 10 years.  

At first, most of the regional airlines used 50-seat or fewer jets.  Prior to the economic collapse in 2008 and subsequent record high fuel prices, these jets were fiscally more reasonable with the extreme lack in demand.  It made more sense to fly a mostly full 50-seat jet compared to flying a half-empty 130 seat jet, even if the former was less fuel efficient per seat.  As the industry began to recover, regional airlines kept taking a larger and larger share of the flying (50% of all flying today is done by a regional carrier under the name of a major one).  Financially, it only made sense.  A regional airline could pay a 300-hour first officer $16,000 a year and back the incredibly low wages by saying the pilot had to "pay for his training and experience."  Some regional airlines even had a pay-to-fly contract where the co-pilot would pay $24,000 a year to sit in the right seat and gain experience.  It's a stepping stone to the majors, they would say.  Suck it up. 

Unfortunately, these low wages combined with a staggeringly low amount of experience in regional airline cockpits caused the underlying problem to become exposed.  In the late 2000s, there were several fatal crashes involving inexperienced regional airline pilots.  Now, Congress has mandated that anyone occupying a flight crew member position at an airline have an Airline Transport Pilot rating (many requirements, 1500 total hours being one of them).  This has driven demand way up and supply way down but regionals are slow to react.  Facing a potential pilot shortage, 5 years ago, Congress extended the mandatory retirement age for pilots from 60 to 65.   This bought the airlines a few years to try and come up with a plan.  Unfortunately, this also halted all retirements from the major airlines.  Stagnation ensued.  Without retirements, very few people were being hired by major airlines.  As a result, the average age of regional pilots began to increase, and with that came an increase in wages paid to those pilots (the longer a pilot is with a company, the more he is paid).  This is combined with what some analysts were saying when regional airlines were buying 50-seats by the hundreds; that they were not financial viable over the long term.

So, where does that leave us now?  With a conundrum.  There is an incredible amount of instability right now in the regional airline industry.  As regional airlines become less competitive due to seniority, the major airlines pit the contracts against other regional airlines.  Since a pilot is paid solely on seniority, many are continuing to accept pay cuts in exchange for not having to start over.  This has created a "race to the bottom."

Most major airlines are forcing or giving benefits to those regionals whom park their 50-seat jets in exchange for much more efficient 76-seat jets (thus reducing the demand for pilots--more seats = less flying needed).  US Airways and American Airways are merging and with any merger comes lots of changes.  Below I will have listed the pros and cons of many of the regional airlines I am considering including the one I have an offer from, American Eagle.  Keep in mind the following in terms of quality of time.  

-Captain time is considered much better than co-pilot time.  A quick "upgrade time" is critical.

-Jet time is considered more valuable, depending on which source you talk to, than propeller time.  It also pays better.

-Being on reserve (aka a back-up) does not guarantee any flying at all and if you don't fly, you don't get per diem (could lower pay by as much as $600 a month)--you also don't get the coveted "jet time."  

-Flow-through agreement is with pilots currently at the regional allowing them to move up to the major it is owned by as needed, no interview required.  This isn't a big deal for me, but would drastically shorten upgrade time and time on reserve.  Without a flow through, the top of the seniority list because crowded and stagnation ensues.  

American Eagle

Pros: Excellent pay and benefits; flow-through agreement; decent bases (Chi, Dallas); good reputation; advertising a need for 500 more pilots this year (get in early, get pushed to the top); owned by American Airlines; Recently added larger 76-seat jets;

Cons: 5 year upgrade time; very senior; fly many older 40/50-seat jets (only regional with jets that hold less than 50 seats); not able to hire as many as expected; bases in NY and MIA make living very expensive.

Rumors:  new CEO of American says they are too expensive (looking for contract concessions); American looking to buy more larger regional jets (may go to Eagle);  American may shrink the airline instead of replacing jets and give away flying to cheaper regional airlines.

PSA Airlines (US Airways Express)

Pros: Owned by US Airways; so-so pay/benefits;  bases in Ohio

Cons: Mostly inefficient, old 50-seat jets; future uncertain in merger; no future aircraft agreements; 4-5 year upgrade; no flow-through.

CommutAir (United Express)

Pros: Youngest crew force/2-3 year upgrade; bases in Ohio

Cons: Prop-planes only; very low pay; no flow-through; no expansion or new planes.

Compass Airlines (Delta Connection)

Pros: Good pay/benefits; flow-through; youngest of the regional airlines; large regional jet fleet (only regional without 50 seat jets); expansion possible if Delta gives them more flying.

Cons: Very high minimums; not very active hiring (perhaps much longer reserve);

Air Wisconson (US Airways Express)

Pros:  Great company (only privately owned regional); great pay and work rules; been around for 40 years (lots of cash on hand and best suited to retool their fleet, if needed); considered by some to be one of the top 3.

Cons: Only flies older 50-seat jets; unable to get any new flying in the last few years; senior and expensive pilot group (perhaps longer reserve, prime for contract renegotiation to lower pilot pay); contract with US Airways expires in a year with no negotiations for renewing.

Trans States (United Express)

Pros: Decent pay/work rules; Signed agreement for large regional jets (delivery TBA); decent bases (DC/STL)

Cons: Very active hiring recently (last class of 20--might put me at the bottom of reserve list); only 50-seat jets (newer and more fuel efficient but still 50 seats).

Republic Airways (United Express, Delta Connection, American Eagle)

Pros: Signed big agreements with American for additional flying; majority of large 76-seat jets currently in demand by major airlines

Cons: Incredibly poor work rules and labor relations (haven't signed a contract in 5 years with management); low wages; canceling flights due to lack of crews (could lead to a loss of flying contracts); very negative reviews from other pilots (taken with a grain of salt since most of this info comes from message boards)

Skywest (United Express, Delta Connection, Alaska, American Eagle)

Pros: Considered the best regional to work for; variety of aircraft; dominates the entire West; signed big agreement with United for large regional jets

Cons: Not hiring hardly at all; 2-3 year reserve; very long upgrade times; when they start hiring, might hire only into prop aircraft, not jets.

______________________
So, where does that leave me now?  Each day I scour the message boards and news to find out the latest and greatest.  What I've decided it comes down to for me is the following:

1) Pick a semi-stable regional even if it means reserve.  Many analysts say that the top is going to blow off this stagnation any minute.  When it starts, I'll move up the seniority list quick.  I won't, however, move up any list if the company goes bankrupt.
                    Good: American Eagle, Skywest, Compass, Republic

2) Choose a regional with bases in a place I want and can afford to live.  While I'd love to live near NY for a little while, the pay at a first year in a regional would be brutal.  I'd be forced to commute to work (live in another city and fly to work to start my trips) which is expensive and exhausting for a junior pilot.  

                     Good: Trans States, Skywest, Compass, Republic, PSA, Air Wisconsin, CommutAir

3) Get in early.  A seniority number is everything, so I'm told.  Every airline pilot I talk to emphasizes this.  That means, it would be better to go now than wait 6 months for my "dream job" to open up.  So, that leaves me with options that I already have been offered a job, been in contact with, or have connections at.
                      Good: Air Wisconsin, American Eagle, Republic, Trans States, CommutAir

So, here I am.  Sitting in a Starbucks chasing my tail.  With as much negative that is around, it make decision-making difficult.  Let's be honest, most pilots that have never held any other job whine and complain a lot.  They want glitz and glamour and want to do very little work to get there.  So, I have to take everything that everyone says with a large grain of salt.  Enough people shouting, however, and I start to listen.

In reality, I am still leaning pretty heavily toward American Eagle.  I could start training right away and they still are looking to hire many more.  That's good for me.  The others that are seriously in the race for me are Trans States (my former instructor is there), Republic (two coworkers went there and are okay with it even though lots of anger coming from pilots there), and Air Wisconsin (another coworker went there and seems really positive about it.)

So, what do you think?  I know most of you are hearing this for the first time, but a dialogue from an outsider's viewpoint could be useful.  Feel free to comment on the facebook post or inline below and share your thoughts.  Let's have a discussion!

Things are moving too fast

The smell of coffee was strong as I sat at a table in the local Starbucks.  It is a Sunday night and I begin my weekly routine.  The first task is the most important: totally my hours.  Various sources contain my notes from the week.  In a mini calender binder I purchased before leaving the Air Force with plans on joining the businessmen of the world, I keep my billable hours.  At one time, it had meeting times and notes from my time as an instructor in the Air Force and job conference schedules.  Now, each day is filled with various numbers (1.3 .3 H; 1.4 .3 D; 1.5 B).  The seemingly unintelligible code is one only I understand and helps me every Sunday.  

I open to the month of June as I wait for the Netbook I purchased in my last months in the Air Force to boot-up.  Once it does, I connect the flight log program I installed to the internet.  After each flight, I pull out my cell phone, open my flight log app, and make a very brief but all-encompassing logbook entry.  Each week, this is pulled from my phone and stored on my hard drive.  Technology sure is wonderful.  As another means of "backing up" the very important information, I also record the times in a traditional logbook.  This particular day is a very important one.  

I already know my total time because the program quickly totals the information for me but I can't wait to see the number at the bottom of my paper logbook page reflect the same.  After spending nearly an hour recording and adding the times, a big smile stretches across my face.  I've hit my first big milestone. Five HUNDRED total hours!!  I can't believe it.  This, of course, was June of last year. I then went on to fill out my online airline application in hopes that I'll catch the perpetually rising minimums and then open up to my other favorite website to let all you know.  

Today is no different other than the year.  The routine has become part of my existence really.  I've long since ditched the paper log in order to save hours of my life.  It really isn't needed as I can just print a very professional looking digital one from my computer.  I did just that for my interview at American Eagle.  I sit in the same Starbucks at the same table and begin my game of collecting, totally and verifying.  Over the last few weeks, I haven't really paid real attention to what the numbers said.  I remember getting excited about 500 and 1000 total hours.  Since 1000, I've settled into a mind numbing routine.  But today...today was different.  

I looked at my logbook total at the bottom of my screen and really LOOKED this time.  Total time: 1440.  Cross-country: 480.  I couldn't believe my eyes really.  I wanted to rub them, but considering rubbing my eyes is what gave me this stupid eye condition in the first place, I just blinked them.  Keeping in mind that I fly almost 80 hours a month and 30 hours of that cross-country, I am officially less than a month away from Airline Transport Pilot minimums.  Less than a month...less than a month.  I remember thinking about how far away 1500 hours really was when I was sitting in this seat a year ago...when I was 28.  Looks like I should get my ATP minimums before I turn 30 but not long before.  There's another scary revelation.  I turn 30 in August.  It seems like just yesterday I had left the Air Force at age 27.  Where has the time gone?

Episode II

I stood at the bus stop outside of American Airlines headquarters talking to my uncle.  "Chris, if you can get the airport in the next two hours, you could you be in Europe by the end of the night." I immediately had a rush.  I'm going to Europe.

A few months ago, I wrote about one of my best friends and his battle with testicular cancer.  Not long after, Richard went into surgery and had every lymph node in his abdomen removed.  All the two could do was wait for an analysis of the biopsy.  I'm sure many sleepless nights ensued; the couple wondering if Richard would need to undergo chemotherapy.  Richard was recovering quickly from his incredibly invasive surgery but doubts still remained.  Initial reports indicated that the cancer was found in a few of the initial nodes removed from the abdomen.  This information was unsettling but the two had yet to meet with the oncologist.  One email exchange between him and I (turns out phone communication is difficult from different countries) expressed his anxiety.  Incredibly, his concerns weren't for himself but of his wife and his unborn child.  "I can't bear the thought of leaving Katy alone to raise a child."  At the end of the email, he shared that he would be leaving the next day to visit the Oncologist to determine if the drastic measure of chemotherapy would be needed.

I went about those days as I usually do.  I studied for my upcoming interview and worked tirelessly in the still cool spring weather.  It was nice having a distraction from the rest of the world and from my friend's problem abroad.  I had promised Richard I would come visit near his wife's due date and when I heard he would be having surgery, it solidified this desire even more. I would go see Richard, I told myself.  I kept telling myself that but the thought of it was fairly terrifying.  I'd never really left the country, let alone the continent and I didn't want to do it alone.  Having my aunt's airline travel passes made it very easy to travel for nearly nothing yet I was still hesitant.  I couldn't believe how selfish I was being.  If my friend can battle cancer, I can surely overcome my fear of the unknown to go visit him.

Then the news came.  The doctors were certain that they had eliminated all cancer in his body and chemo would not be needed.  This was GREAT news!  It was so great that he had finally caught a break, if one can even consider it a break.  I sighed a breath of relief as I went back to work but the roller coaster was far from over.  *Ding* My email buzzed what only seemed like a day later.  On a routine exam, the doctors have decided to keep Katy for observation.  My heart sunk.  The break was short-lived.  Katy, at barely over 7 months pregnant was finally showing the stress of the past several months.  She had been so strong for so long but it had taken its toll.

Once a day, Richard would send updates from Belgium.  His baby seemed healthy but at under 7.5 months, he was still premature.  The doctors had started Katy on a treatment so the baby's lungs would develop early.  Oh no.  They are preparing for an early delivery.  One email shared that if things continued in this direction, they would have to induce as early as the weekend.  I wanted nothing more than to be there for my friend.  I called American Eagle and inquired about moving the interview but it wasn't possible at this point.  When I emailed Richard of what I was trying to do, he scolded me.  "Take care of your future first.  Don't worry about me."  Selfless as always.  It was the Wednesday before the interview when I'd received the email above.

Thursday brought more bad news.  They'd noticed an abnormal heart beat sometime during the night.  Katy was being prepped for an early delivery.  They'd pushed the date up to Friday.  The baby was going to be born about 7.5 months into the pregnancy, prematurely.  It was becoming hard to concentrate at work thinking about what was happening on the other side of the planet.  Electronic communication kept us so close and yet I felt so far away.  Friday morning after my first flight, I received another email from Richard.  After monitoring overnight and through the day (it was late in the afternoon in Europe), they had decided to push off the delivery until Monday or Tuesday of the next week.  It was still early, but at this stage, I suppose each day in the womb counts.  I stood at our dispatch desk and exhaled a sigh of relief.  Things seemed to be racing at a breakneck pace, on the verge of being out of control.  I walked out to the ramp for my last flight of the day, relaxed.  The baby won't be born until Tuesday.  Everything is normal.  Good.

My emailed buzzed at me when I was walking in from my last flight.  It was from Richard.  "They found another anomaly in the baby's heart rate.  C-section in 45 minutes."  That was it.   It was approaching 11 pm in Belgium and Richard rushed to the hospital 30 minutes away.  His wife, the love of his life, was going into surgery merely weeks after he'd had one of his own.  With excitement and worry, he waited.  Shortly before midnight, on May 17, 2013, weighing barely 4.3 lbs, Henry Wille was born.  It would take almost a month before he would come home, but I am pleased to announce that he is a handsome and healthy baby.  Finally, a win for the family.

I felt more determined than ever to go to Europe.  So, when I packed my bags for Dallas, I threw in some extra clothes.  If I was going to be away from work, I might as well be away for an entire week.  I knew that I returned after the interview, I'd be less likely to go.  So, the original plan was to return to Orlando and catch the first flight out on Tuesday.  From there, I would make a more detailed plan of what I was going to do.  I had a list of things I needed and wanted to do before I left.  After talking to my uncle, I raced to the airport with a new "plan."  This plan was "go to airport.  Get on airplane.  Think later."

When I arrived at the Delta ticket counters in Dallas, my phone was screaming at me.  The battery icon was flashing and my phone kept telling me to...disregard...it's dead.  I walked through the ticketing area looking for an outlet with none to be seen.  My original plan was to list myself on standby once I got to the airport.  As I signed in, the password on my aunt's account had been changed. I had called my aunt from the American headquarters, but she hadn't answered.  When she called back, I was talking with my uncle about the best plan of action.  She left a voicemail but it was more bad news.  She had come from physical therapy and was going to take a quick nap.  As I sat in the terminal, I turned on my iPad (which was going to be my greatest asset on this trip) and tried to Skype call her with my 3G connection.  Nothing.  I opened my Verizon app and sent her a text.  Nothing.  I then sent my uncle a text and explained my situation.  All I could do now was wait.  It was a little over an hour from the flight to Minneapolis.  Nearly 15 minutes later, I finally received his response.  My timing couldn't have been better as he was preparing to go to the airport for his flight back to Asia.

I rushed into the bathroom to change out of my suit and put on more comfortable clothes, I checked-in, then I cleared security.  My first priority was to find an outlet.  I still hadn't called my mom to tell her the good news.  After the interview, I wasted my entire battery trying to get to the airport and figure out my next move--that and sending out nearly 30 text messages.  I sat for a few minutes at the outlet but it would be short-lived.  I had to board my flight to Minneapolis.  As I walked into the cabin, I found myself sitting comfortably in First Class.  It had been a long day of stress and anxiety.  I now had time to relax.  Before the plane even left the gate, I was asleep.

As we landed in Minnesota, I looked at my boarding document for the next flight.  That's not good, I muttered to myself as we rolled up to the gate.  I had 45 minutes before my flight to Europe left.  The airplane door opened and I was off.  First priority, find out where I am.  I found the airport map.  As expected, I had to cross the airport to get to my gate.  I took off on a slight walk-jog passing through the airport mall.  Yes, for those of you who have never been to the Minneapolis airport, it has a mall.  It is oddly disorienting when you first enter it.  With the exception of the signs hanging from the ceiling directing you to different terminals, it is designed and appears to be just like any normal mall.  It has a lady playing a harp or a piano (depending on what time of day you go through) and even a food court.  After my trot through the mall, I arrived at my gate with 30 minutes to spare.

"Excuse me ma'am, I am checking in for my flight."  Part of flying on a pass is that I have to be on standby for every flight.  If there are open seats, then I get to go.  So, I wasn't even sure if I had a seat yet.  They were just about to give away my seat and I knew this because she had to yell at the other lady to stop giving away my seat.  She handed me my boarding pass and that's when I made an important realization.  Unlike if I was flying to Ohio, if it didn't make this flight, I didn't think my luggage would clear customs without me, let alone make the trip from the Netherlands to Belgium.  "Do you know if my bags have arrived yet?"  They hadn't.  I asked if I could wait for the last possible moment to board so that I could be sure my bag makes it.  She said I could wait.  The other woman looked perplexed.  "So, you're not going to board without your bags?"  I was caught off guard by the question.  "Um, no?" I asked her back.  This was my first international flight ever.  I had no idea what to say and was hoping she would just tell me what to do.  She didn't and went back to typing nonsensically on the keyboard.  "Oh, Hey!  BOYES, your bags are here!  Board now!"  She seemed super excited.

I opened my iPad (my battery was again beyond dead) and shot a quick message to Richard.  It was nearly 1 in the morning in Belgium so I doubted he would respond.  "Delta 245, be there at 10."  I figured that was enough.  I would later find out that the message was fairly cryptic, but they eventually figured it out.  As I walked down the jetway, I looked at my boarding pass.  Seat 3G.  I stared at it and wondered if that meant I had to sit in the middle.  It did but it wouldn't matter.  As I walked onto the plane, I looked at my seat and with delight, found myself in business class.  For the first ever international flight of my life, I would be sitting in a chair that reclined flat to make a pseudo-bed.

Shortly after take-off, the surprises kept coming.  I received a glass of wine and a little bowl of hot peanuts followed by a hot towel.  I pulled out my own personal TV and started watching Life of Pi.

 As I sipped my Sauvignon Blanc, a flight attendant came by with my appetizer.  It was a tomato basil soup, grilled shrimp with a dipping sauce, and bread and butter.  I was starving and the food went quick.

 Like clockwork, my place was cleared and a wonderfully tasting salad showed up in its place.  Oh, and of course another glass of wine.

I barely had enough time to finish my salad when the main course showed up.  It was some sort of pasta with mushrooms and cheese sauce.  And yes, it was yum-yum.

As my place was cleared for the last time, I reclined my seat and put my feet up as I finished my last glass of wine.  THIS was amazing.  We'd been in the air a little over an hour and it felt as if it was no time at all.  As I continued to watch my movie, the flight attendants came around with one last cart.  Dessert.  I inquired to what they were serving.  It was vanilla ice cream with as many toppings as you can imagine: fudge, fresh fruit, nuts, whipped cream, and more.  After I finished my dessert, my movie ended shortly thereafter.  According to my personal TV, we were just leaving the eastern border of Canada and headed for Greenland when my movie ended.  I reclined my seat fully-flat, grabbed my full-size pillow rolled onto my side and went to sleep.

When I awoke, I realized that I had been asleep for 4 full hours.  The sun was beaming into the window of the woman who forgot to close her blind.  I didn't because we only had an hour left in the flight and needed to start getting ready for the second half of my trip.  This is one of the most amazing experiences of my life, I thought to myself.  I didn't know how true that statement would become as the journey continued.  I sat up and brought my seat into "Sitting mode."  A man came by and handed me another hot towel.  I wiped my face and hands.  "What would you like to have for breakfast sir?"  Breakfast?! I ordered the granola.  It came with a hot croissant, fresh strawberries, strawberry yogurt, milk, and orange juice.  As I finished my breakfast, I heard the engines whine down.  We were beginning our descent into Amsterdam.  I couldn't believe that we had been on a plane for almost 8 hours.  It seemed like barely 3.

I left the comfort of the United States and entered a whole new world.  While Holland is very similar to the US, I couldn't help but notice I was indeed in a different country.  Every sign was in Dutch, English and French.  The PA announcements were also in three different languages.  As I walked by news stands, they were filled with European newspapers and foreign treats.  I still appeared to be in my comfort zone but I know it had to be obvious I was new here.  I caught myself several times smiling like an idiot and almost laughing to myself.

I walked through customs and answered his brief but pointed questions.  It took me literally minutes to walk from the airplane to the baggage claim and out into main terminal.  It was then that I erred significantly when I didn't take that day to plan my trip.

I quickly took inventory of my situation.  My phone was dead.  I had originally planned on using it to call home to let them know I made it safe and to call Richard to find out if I was going to the city of the hospital or his home city.  I had forgotten to go to a store to get a power adapter for the European electrical system, so it was going to stay dead, at least for the time being.  I pulled out my iPad and quickly turned off my 3G.  No need to rack up international data charges.  As I scrolled through my settings, I couldn't help but notice it wasn't picking up a signal anyways.  Oh well, so much for that back-up plan.  Surely Amsterdam airport has Wi-Fi.  It did.  The sign-in page was in dutch.  I could make out a few words and the most important one was the one that worried me.  I had 2x30 minute free sessions.  So, I signed in and messaged Richard.  I needed to find out where I was going.

I walked over to the bank of ticket counters to try and find a train.  I found a lady at the information desk. "Excuse me, when does the next train leave for Brussels."  She looked at me kind of funny.  I now know that that question was ridiculous.  Only in movies is there a next train to anywhere.  She spoke in broken english and I understood that I had to walk to the international train desk.  I probably could've asked more questions, but the language barrier made me panic.  Maybe the guy behind the counter will be of more help.  As I looked over the list of destinations, I realized I saw NEITHER of the places Richard told me to go.  I pulled out my iPad and realized that I was already on my second 30 minutes of Wi-Fi.  I also noticed I had a message from Richard.  He wanted to call me on a number that looked like this: 03 05 0034 934 94 94.  Yep, I was in a different country.

I walked over to the bank of pay phones to try and call Richard.  Do they even have 1-800-COLLECT? My debit card had expired before I left and it was sent to my mom's house in Ohio.  She hadn't had time to send it to me yet, but I wasn't worried.  I could just use my credit card like I always do.  Cash is overrated, so I thought.  I had a quick sigh of relief when I realized the pay phone took credit cards.  When I slid the card through the reader and picked up the phone, the voice said that the day-pass was 20 Euro.  I hadn't done any research on what the conversion was but I was certain 20 Euro was more than $20.

I hung up the phone and thought about my options.  I didn't have time to setup my credit card cash advance before I left.  So, getting cash was out of the question.  My phone was dead.  I was on the last 10 minutes of free Wif-Fi.  Either way, I was going to pay.  I sighed to myself as I picked up the phone again and paid 20 Euro for the phone call.  Richard answered.  "CHRIS!!  Where are you?!"  We talked for a few minutes, it was a day pass after all.  He told me to get on the train to Soignies (pronouched SwaNEY).  I hung up the phone and walked over to the ticket counter.  "Next train to Soignies please."  He did some typing and said that it was going to cost me 40 euro.  I pulled out my card and he angrily said, "Chip and pin ONLY" only as he pointed to the sign above the card reader.

Apparently, there is a new technology everywhere in the world that the U.S. has neglected to adopt.  It is a secure system where an RFID chip is implanted into the credit card and when it is inserted into the credit card machine, the owner types in a PIN to verify its use.  I didn't know this technology existed or that my American MasterCard would be denied outside of the U.S.  I walked away and sat down near the phone bank.  I was in a foreign country that marginally speaks English.  I had no way to get money, I had 5 minutes of wifi left and my iPad had 20% battery life.  I was in a panic and contemplated buying a ticket back to the US.  Then I realized I had my 20 Euro phone day pass.  I quickly called the bank to set up my card for cash advances.  After verifying my identity, the lady on the other line said, "I'm glad you called us.  We noticed a charge from Amsterdam and since you didn't notify us you were traveling there, we were about to shut off your credit card."  Another thing I was planning to do before I left but didn't.  I set up my pin and walked over to the ATM to finally get some money.  I withdrew 200 euro thinking I wouldn't be able to use my credit card again.  As it turns out the exchange rate was 1.39 to 1.  Which mean that I'd actually withdrawn $278.  Oh, and that my 20 Euro phone call also cost $27.  Yikes.

Once I had gotten to Richard's, I know I would be fine.  It was getting there that was the hard part.  I spent 2.5 phenomenal days in Europe.  It was absolutely an amazing trip.  Richard and I spent every day going to the hospital. Katy, the understanding and amazing wife that she is, kicked us out of the hotel room and told us to go have fun.  We went into Brussels and Mons, ate some fine Belgian food and drank some amazing Belgian beer.  It is a trip I'll never ever forget.  Unfortunately, I had to start making my way back to the US.  I'd been away from work for almost a week now and needed to get my students flying again.  So, Richard and I looked up train tickets back to Amsterdam.

On Thursday at noon, he took me back to the train station.  Neither Richard nor I spoke French and the guy at the small train station didn't speak English.  I said "Schipol (the name of the Amsterdam airport)."  He looked at me funny. I then said "Amsterdam.  Airport.  Airport in Amsterdam.  Schipol." I may have even flapped my arms.  Stupid American.  He shrugged his shoulders and said something in French.  I knew the international sign for "I don't know what you're talking about."  I was frustrated that he didn't know where I was trying to go.  It's the second biggest airport in the Europe.  So, I just said.  "Brussels South."  I knew once there, I'd be able to find someone who spoke "English."

The rest of the trip went well with little issues...until I got to my last stop.  One thing I didn't realize until it was too late was the difference between my trip to and from Soignies.  On the trip there, the man behind the desk was nice enough to print me an itinerary including platform numbers.  I didn't realize how incredibly crucial this was.  On the way back, I didn't have this.  The first two stops, I had no issues.  When I arrived in Rotterdam, however, all that changed.  My train into Rotterdam was running 3 minutes late.  It wouldn't have been a big deal had there been more than a 5 minute difference between my arrival and departure.  I got off the train, 40lb suitcase  and 20 lb USAFA back pack in hand.

As I walked off the train, I look out over the platforms...there had to be 20 platforms.  Shit.  I found the stairs down to the terminal below and ran to the nearest information board.  We had exited the French speaking of Europe and entered the Dutch speaking portion. Having a dysfunctional grasp on Spanish, reading French wasn't too bad.  Dutch, though, was a completely different story.  I stared at the information board in PANIC.  I was hastily scanning the board looking for the High-Speed train to Amsterdam airport.  I found one, I thought, and took my bag and sprinted up the stairs.  It was the train I just got off of and was supposed to get there 15 minutes after the high-speed.  It wouldn't have been a big deal if I had planned to arrive more than 1.5 hours before my international flight back to the US.  But I didn't, and catching the high speed was critical.  I ran back down the stairs and found the right platform.  Again, sprinted up the stairs to the platform only to find that it was empty.  The train was gone.  Sulking to myself, I rode the escalator down to the terminal again.  I walked over to the board and tried to figure out what to do now.  There was no internet and Richard was at the hospital so calling him wouldn't have helped.

I again found myself lost and confused in another country, for the second time.  I needed to get to the airport as soon as possible because I was supposed to catch the last flight out of Amsterdam and the next day's flights were nearly full.  My best shot for the weekend of getting out of Europe was this flight.  I remembered back to my trip out to the woman at the information booth saying that the high speed train leaves the airport every 30 minutes and when I looked at the board, I confirmed this.  I had 25 minutes to kill but this 25 minutes was brutal.  I walked to the bathroom where I had to pay 2 euro just to use it.  I swore to myself as I put the 2 Euro coin in my pocket into the machine.  A gate opened, permitting my entrance.  I swore to myself.  Going to the bathroom cost more than a Starbucks coffee.

I was so mad at myself for once again planning this so poorly.  I yearned for nothing more than to turn on my phone and get Google Maps.  Tell me, almighty google, what is the fastest way to Schipol.  It worked when I was in Boston and DC.  But this isn't Kansas anymore, Toto.

I hadn't eaten for the entire 3 and a half hour train ride so far and not since 4 hours before that.  I was hungry.  As I stood in the middle of the terminal, I wanted nothing more than to be back in the US.  I irrationally cursed Europe and their confusing train schedule, their stupid languages, and their crappy coffee (I bought a coffee at a train station prior and it tasted like poop even with sweetener and milk).  I was freezing standing in my stupid American Eagle polo shirt when everyone else was bundled up in their warm jackets (it was 50 degrees in Northern Europe still).  I guess European train stations don't like to have heat and are all almost completely open air.  Yet another failure to do any kind of research before leaving my country.  I was pissed at myself.  Furious, in fact.  For someone as prepared as I usually was, I couldn't believe I had been so reckless.  As I walked through the terminal, I spotted it.  Yep, that's what I'm going to do.  I walked over to the small Burger King in the terminal, ordered a Whopper Meal, and drowned my anger in a chargrilled beef patty.  It was completely worth it.

Back on the train again, I kept staring at the time.  Why is it running on time NOW?  Why can't it be running early.  European train schedules don't have arrival times, just departure.  Doing some quick math from my first trip, I estimated I'd have about an hour once I got off the train.  I would still have to get to ticket counter from the station.  As my train arrived, I realized I had less time; 55 minutes to be exact.  I trotted out of the train and up the escalator to the main terminal where I was first lost.  I spotted the phone bank I used 3 days earlier and the looked up and beyond them to find the Delta ticket counters.  The signs on the wall just read "1/2" and "3/4."  Each wing took you in a completely different direction.  You are SUCH AN IDIOT! Once again, I was lost.  I saw a KLM Flight Attendant in her baby blue uniform and asked here where the Delta ticket counters were.  THANKFULLY she spoke English and knew.  I took my suit case and ran through the terminal.  I dragged my luggage behind me and my heavy backpack slammed on my shoulders and lower back as I ran. I was waiting for it break but it didn't.  I arrived at the ticket counters 45 minutes before departure.

Sure I had missed my flight, the agent called down to the gate.  The flight was delayed and they would let me and my bags on.  She smiled as she printed out my boarding pass, "It's your lucky day."  As she handed me the pass, I once again realized I would be in business class.  I walked onto the plane and sat down in my seat relieved.

What a trip, I thought to myself as I kicked my shoes off, reclined me seat and turned on a movie.  What a trip.

A Weird and Wild Week

Sunday Morning

The alarm clock went off at 4 am.  I rolled over, silenced the soft melody programmed on my cell phone, and continued the roll all the way until my feet were on the floor.  I was surprised because even though the cell phone clocked screamed WAY TOO EARLY, I was wide awake.  I quickly walked to the shower and within 15 minutes, I walked out of the apartment in khakis and the collared shirt I had laid out right before setting my alarm the night before.

It was still dark outside as I made my way to my car, suitcase in tow.  The mornings here are still cool enough to make long sleeve shirts comfortable but the first signs of summer are beginning to show.  The air is muggier than normal, and for 4 am, I was surprised at how sweaty I was becoming.  After tossing my 40 lb suitcase and my trusty-yet-overstuffed USAFA backpack in the trunk, I plopped down behind the steering wheel and closed the door.  I stared wide-eyed out the windshield while I tried to catch my breath.  My heart was racing and my adrenaline pumping but not from any physical exertion  What am I doing? Just go... I said to myself as I started my car and turned on the air conditioning.

It took little more than an hour to walk through the doors of the Orlando International Airport terminal.  I had managed to relax during my drive but adrenaline was once again flowing.  I approached a woman at the American Airlines ticket counter and handed her a piece of paper that had been emailed to me the week before.  "Mr. Christopher Boyes has been scheduled for an interview with American Eagle Airlines on May 20th..."  The rest of the letter goes on to explain how to list me as a standby passenger to Dallas.

The woman behind the counter couldn't have been more pleasant.  I have spent countless hours in airports over the years and have become very familiar with their layout and the most efficient ways to get in and out.  "Okay," she said to me after taking my luggage, " come with me.  We'll see how the security lines are."  She walked me to the front of the crew line and I was ushered through security.  "Good luck on your interview.  I hope it goes well!  Make sure to check in at the gate.  You should get first class" she said to me as she turned to make her way back to the ticket counter.

She was true to her word and I was issued a first class boarding pass as I boarded the medium-sized jet destined for Dallas/Fort Worth.  I felt too embarrassed to take advantage of the free breakfast or the hot towel.  After all, I hadn't earned this right; it was merely an interview.  I leaned back and just tried to relax.  Here we go I thought to myself as we accelerated for take-off and seemingly before the wheels had left the ground, I was asleep.

As if I had entered a time-machine, I awoke several hours later as we pulled up to the gate in Dallas.  It didn't take me long to find my way to the baggage claim and find the bus to the hotel.  American Eagle flew me into town a day early to ensure I was available for the interview the following morning.  I spent much of my Sunday cramming for the interview studying any piece of information I could get my hands on.  I scoured the internet for gauge in hopes of finding new information about the interview.  I arrived at the hotel at 9 am and spent the majority of the day in my room.  I went through my application paperwork for the 20th time and scoured for any missing information.  I had heard horror stories of people being sent home before the interview had even started because of incomplete paperwork.  This worried me greatly.  One of the 6 attachments I had to print out requested driving records from each state of residence over the last 10 years.  The task would be daunting and would take much longer to obtain than the 10 days I was given.  Dealing with one DMV with a valid license is bad enough.  I was going to have to get records from Colorado, California, Montana, Ohio, and Florida and that just didn't happen.

After I walked to a local Mexican restaurant for dinner, I made my way back to my room to continue studying.  Being alone in my head for the last 48 hours (I took Saturday off to pack and finish my paperwork) had taken its toll.  "What am I DOING?!" I confessed in panic and desperation.  "I'm not a pilot.  I don't want to do this.  Why would I want to go to a regional airline?  Maybe I should just give it up now and start looking for management jobs!"  The fear of failure was palpable.  I had come so far, I had worked so hard, yet had never gotten this close.  Too many times in the past, incredibly poor timing had caused me to get close but fall short.  I'd been let down by "the man" several times before but it had made disappointment easier to swallow.  It was his fault, not mine.  I could always use countless cliches to belay my sadness: C'est la vie, this is life, it is what it is.  They've all been a part of my regular vocabulary for so long.  Now, I had to perform and if I didn't make it, it was because I just wasn't good enough; and that was terrifying.

****

Six-thirty came early the next morning and after a quick shower, I "suited up!"  I made my way to front desk to await the van to the training center.  "Are you going to HQ2," the man in the bus asked.  I was and as I sat down, two other people joined me, bags and suitcases in hand.  I imagined they were going to the same place as me, but my shyness prevented me from asking.  As the van pulled away from the hotel, I forced myself to concentrate on breathing.  I have to at least appear calm even though my insides are screaming "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!"

It couldn't have been more than 5 minutes before we pulled into an office complex of 3 and 4 story buildings.  It looking rather inconspicuous to the naked eye as a group of normal offices.  As we turned the corner and entered the parking lot, the sign at the entrance caught my eye and made my heart jump:  "American Airlines" and below it "Headquarters."  American Eagle, the company with whom I was interviewing, is owned by American Airlines.  I had always thought they'd have separate facilities but, as I had just found out, they didn't.  The wide-eyed look on my face must've been entertaining.  I once again began to feel inadequate and out of place.  The van stopped to let us out and as we walked through the revolving door of the large building, a woman behind a desk near the entryway stood up.  "Hello, welcome.  Are you here for the interview?"  Our wonderment most definitely gave us away.  She made each of us security badges and showed us to the recruiting office.

The waiting room was large and had enough chairs to seat 40 people, yet there were only four of us here.  I sat down in a chair facing the back wall.  I hadn't noticed it when I came in, but the entire back wall was painted like this:



It only added to my anxiety.  This was for keeps.

After 20 minutes, a man met us and brought us to the back to a much less imposing conference room; one with a view of the outside.  After a 30 minute briefing on the company and the reasons why they were hiring, he began to explain the interview process.  It was very similar to what I had read online which comforted me slightly but it wasn't long before he finished and asked for a volunteer to fly the simulator first.  A young man, not much older than 24 and with merely 500 total hours raised his hand first.  He was applying for a CFI pipeline position the company was offering to junior instructors to help build time faster.  I felt embarrassed for letting the younger and more inexperienced guy beat me to the punch, but I still wasn't ready to pull the trigger.  Of course, merely minutes after he left, another man called me out of the room to begin the technical portion.  So much for procrastinating.

We walked through a maze of cubicles and shortly found ourselves in a small office with two chairs and a computer.  A second man was waiting for us there and was introduced as the one who would be conducting the HR portion of the interview.  The man who I had walked with would be asking the technical questions. I sat down in the chair and one of the interviewers (turned out they were both pilots for the company) had mentioned something about training for a marathon.  I recognized an opportunity and jumped on it. "Oh yeah? I ran a half marathon in California several years ago, which one are you training for?"  What ensued was a 15 minute conversation about running and training and the like.  It was loose enough in the room for me to sneak in a few jokes which were met with laughs by the gentlemen interviewing me.

We had apparently strayed far enough from the task at hand and after a fairly awkward transition, he began asking me questions. "The first questions I'm going to ask are from the packet we sent you to memorize."  Exactly 7 days before the interview, I was sent a 15 page packet of information that I was required to commit to memory.  It was supposed to show me and subsequently show them how well I would do in training.  One of the excellent abilities I garnered from USAFA was the ability to commit incredible amounts of information to memory.  The first five questions he asked were from the packet and with little to no hesitation, I answered them confidently and correctly.  "Okay then he chuckled as he put away the sheet.  That's enough of that."  For the next 20 minutes, I was asked questions about regulations, charts, approaches, and other pilot stuff.  Most of the questions I found to be easy and we smoothly transitioned from one chart to the other.

After he scoured the charts in search of symbols and procedures I didn't know, he moved on to a scenario.  He put a printed and encoded weather observation and forecast.  "Can you read for me the first two lines of the forecast."  I had to fight to hold back my smile.  After answering it correctly, he moved on to the observation and asked me to read it to him.  I went on to read the entire thing from start to finish including the obscure symbols at the end and had done so in nearly a single breath.  When I finished, he looked at his co-interviewer, he said "I don't think we've ever had anyone do it that well."  I couldn't help myself.  I chuckled a little as I said, "Well, I majored in Meteorology in college.  I would hope I can read a weather observation."  One of the guys smiled and admitted that he had graduated from Embry-Riddle and wished they had had a meteorology major when he was there.  It was then that I took my second opportunity to derail the interview...and I did so successfully.

After what seemed like an eternity, the grilling was over.  We eventually moved on to HR questions but these are typically pretty easy.  "Tell me how you resolve conflict in the work place" or "tell me what your biggest challenge will be in training."  As long as you don't tell them that you tend to start fist fights and that you don't like studying, you're fine.  As I walked out of the room, a massive weight had been lifted from my shoulders.  I rocked it.  I had absolutely rocked it and I couldn't begin to explain how relieved I was.

When I walked back into the room, the first guy to go to the simulator had just started talking about how his sim went.  "I don't know.  Ugh.  It was a lot different from what I was used to.  I don't know that I did that well."  They had asked me how the technical portion had gone and just as I was about to answer, the simulator supervisor called me.  It was my turn.  Great, why did I have to hear that he did bad right before I was called? I grabbed the charts they had issued to me at the beginning of the interview and walked to the sim room.  As I was leaving, another man came into the room and called the younger pilot and asked him to bring his bags with him.  I thought that was odd because he hadn't yet done the technical portion  As they walked down the hall, it donned on me that he was being lead out of the building.  He had not gotten the job.  Wow.  No pressure.

I will spare you all the details but include a few very important ones.  As I took off, the simulator quickly entered the clouds.  Turn left, turn right, climb, descend.  Those were all relatively simple tasks.  Intercept and fly to this navigational aid.  Now, hold on this navigational aid.  I have been teaching these concepts for over a year now but it had been awhile since I was the one doing them.  I never really got confused but was concentrating hard.  I was going to do this right!  After we had done all the tasks, I landed and he asked me to fill out the grading sheet with my name and date of interview.  I tried to get him to hint at how I did, but he wouldn't budge.  He's clearly done this before.  I thought I'd done well, but without feedback, I began to wonder.  At the beginning of the interview, they had told us that if we weren't offered the job, they weren't allowed to tell us why, just that we hadn't been offered a job.

As I walked back to the room, I began to run through the simulation in my head.  I scoured my brain trying to recount every detail. When I entered, a second pilot was asked to gather his bags before he'd had a chance to fly the simulator.  Apparently he had done the technical portion while I was in the simulator and not done well.  My heart began to race.  What if I had been told to fly FROM the station instead of to.  What if I was cleared to land on a different runway?! I thought incredibly hard and tried to remember exactly what he had said but couldn't.  And then my heart sank.  I remembered something he had told me at the beginning.  "At some point during this, I will ask you to recite the emergency procedure you were given to memorize in your packet."  I had never been asked to recite it.  That's it.  They didn't give me it because I had already failed the sim.  They didn't want waste time.  The only other remaining interviewee, an Air Force pilot oddly stationed with one of my really good friends, had just been taken to the sim and I was alone in the room.  I hastily grabbed my backpack, my papers, my folder and packed my bag.  I put it on my suitcase and grabbed my suit jacket.  I can't believe I had been so dumb after doing so well.  I can't believe I blew it.

The door stood open and I stood still in dread for the grim reaper of interviewers to tell me to gather my things.  The wait was unbearable.  I paced back and forth in the small conference room and continued searching my brain.  About 15 minutes later, the other pilot returned.  Time is on my side.  I knew from the previous two that were asked to leave, it had been relatively soon after they had failed that they were asked to leave.  Thirty minutes after my sim, a man walked in.  As he entered the room, I felt myself walking to my bags.  "Well, we can't wait any longer.  Here are some vouchers for the cafeteria.  You each get $6.  Be back here at, let's say, 1245."  I'm supposed to eat?!  Are you kidding me?!  I can barely breathe!

After a quick lunch in the nicest cafeteria I've ever eaten in, the other guy and I walked back to the room to wait.  Then, at exactly 1245, the grim reaper showed up.  "Christopher, can you grab your bags and come with me."  Just as I had suspected.  It was over.  At least I gotten a free meal out of it, I suppose.  I grabbed my suitcase, jacket, and backpack.  I was led into a room around the corner and asked to take a seat.  The room was barely big enough to fit a table and two chairs.  There was no Pomp and Circumstance here.  I sat down, heart in my stomach.  Man I wish I hadn't have had any caffeine at lunch, I thought as my heart beat faster than it does when I run.  "Well, Chris," the man said "congratulations!  We'd like to make you an offer."

I literally sighed aloud.  "Wow" is all I could manage to say.  I couldn't believe it.  I felt silly for all the feelings I had felt in the previous days and especially for what I felt in the past hour.  Wow.  There I sat, almost exactly 7 years after graduating from the Air Force Academy, staring at a piece of paper offering me a position with an airline (pending a background investigation, of course)...and I couldn't believe it.

It would take another hour to go through finger-printing and gathering all the paperwork I had completed.  When I finished, the man said, "just let us know when you have completed your ATP written test and have 1500 hours.  It shouldn't take long after that to get you into a class."  Wow.  I have spent every weekend since arriving in Daytona a year and 4 months ago...and technically would not have search anymore.  I continue to chase after my dream, but for the first time since I started this blog in August of 2011, I have seen the light at the end of the tunnel.  With the current turmoil and uncertainty in the regional airline business, it could very well be a train, but at least it's light.  The dark was starting to get lonely.

As I walked out of the building, I handed my badge to the nice woman at the front desk.  "Congratulations," she said as we walked away.  I smiled widely and nearly shouted "Thanks!"  Walking out of the building after six hours of stress was relieving but my journey was far from over.  My flight was scheduled on American Airlines back to Orlando at 5 and even more importantly, I had somewhere else to go...

The phone rang and I hoped my uncle would answer on the other end.  "Chris!!!  CONGRATULATIONS!" He yelled on the other line.  I had been texting him since I heard the news and was calling to tell him the story, but more important to get information.  "Charlie, I will definitely tell you the story of what happened, but could you do me a favor first?  Could you see when the next flight leaves for Amsterdam?  I need to go to see Richard."  Not more than 10 minutes later, he called back.  "How close are you to the airport?" He asked.  I told him that I was riding there presently.  "Okay, well, if you can make it there in 30 minutes, you might be in Belgium by the end of the day..."

To be continued...

Unfamiliar Situations Are Uncomfortable

For those of you who know me really well, you know I suffer from incredible introversion.  I've gotten much better in recent years in covering it up with jokes and feigned extroversion, but that doesn't really mean I've gotten over my incredible anxiety with getting out of my comfort zone. 

This shyness isn't a new revelation in my life as I've been plagued with it as long as I can remember.  My mom loves to tell me the story of a 12-year old Chris on his way to try out for a baseball "All-Star" team.  As a youngster, I was always fairly talented in athletics.  Sports and sport-related activities came relatively natural to me.  I started playing organized baseball in my hometown at a pretty young age in a league we later referred to as "T-shirt" ball.  It received its slang name due to the nature of the competition.  Everyone who signed up for "T-shirt" ball made the team and had to play a certain percentage of the game.  At the beginning of the season, as part of the entrance fee, everyone received a shirt, not a jersey, with a number on it and at the end of the year, everyone "earned" a trophy.

A few teammates/friends of mine and I were invited to try out for a baseball team that essentially would be comprised of all-star athletes from around my county.  My parents told me about the team, that it was an "All-Star Team," and that tryouts were the next weekend.  My memory of the event starts on the drive to the baseball field.  As we pull into the parking lot, I strain my neck from the minivan in an attempt to get a glimpse of my friends. My mom and dad told me they were there so the first thing I would do is go find them but I can't see them anywhere.  Panic sets in.  Why am I doing this?  I was doing fine in my hometown league.  I didn't have to meet new people and with their spirit of competition, didn't have to risk failure. 

As my parents parked the car, I became hysterical.  I would NOT leave the van.  You can't MAKE me try out.  I WON'T!  I just wanted to go back and play with my friends.  What if the coaches don't like me?  What if the other kids don't like me?  I began to tell myself that I wasn't that good and that I wouldn't make the team so why even bother.  My dad became frustrated with me which made me even more belligerent.  My mom tried to convince me to just try but my anxiety and panic escalated my hysteria into tears. 

Once I'd calmed down, my mom confessed that the coach had already seen me play and I'd already made the team.  This was just a formality and a chance to meet the other players.  After one of the more embarrassing tantrums of my young life, I got out of the car and trotted out to the field.  Almost exactly one year later, I walked onto a plane in Kansas City bound for Cleveland holding a National Championship trophy.  Had I not gotten out of the van that day, I wouldn't have one of my favorite childhood memories.  I would've continued to play with my friends while never having to challenge myself.

The mental breakdown in my parents van was really the pinnacle of my insanity.  As I've gotten older, my rational mind has continued to win over the irrational anxiety brooding deep under the surface.  It's tried to boil up over the years in major life events and even in simple daily choices.

I was originally rejected from the Air Force Academy in February of my senior year.  At first, I was disappointed but internally relieved.  I could go to Kent State or Ohio State with my friends and not travel across the country to a military academy, a far more daunting situation.  Then, in April, I received my appointment package from USAFA.  My mom called the school while I was on a field trip. When we arrived back at school, I hurriedly called my mom fearing the worst.  She answered the phone and gave me the news.  I was going to the Air Force Academy.  I know I should've been ecstatic, but wasn't.  I was afraid of the unknown; afraid of leaving my family, my girlfriend, and the comfortable surroundings of Northeast Ohio for a distant, ominous world.  Of course, I went, graduated, and served my time.

Some of the more inconsequential examples stem from my fear of making poor choices.  A few months ago, I decided early one morning that I wanted to go grab some brunch; the only stipulation being a place with a view of the beach.  I scoured the internet looking for places.  Several grabbed my attention but the anxiety of making a choice plagued my search.  What if I went to one and didn't like it?  I would have wasted a perfectly good morning.  After two hours of internet searching, I put my computer down, went to the kitchen and made cereal.  Decision averted.  I just chose not to choose.  Problem solved.  My Montana friends know these situations all too well.

So, why am I telling these stories?  The monster inside of me has returned and this time it's not about breakfast.  This past year has honestly been great.  As much as I try to complain about my job or the students, I know deep inside that I enjoy what I do.  Sometimes the anxiety of making a decent paycheck gets me down when planes are in maintenance, but as a whole, I've become really comfortable here...and therein lies the problem.  After a year of flight instructing, I've somehow managed to become one of the more senior and experienced instructors.  I know what I'm teaching, I know how to get students through a check ride, and I know that there is relatively decent job security where I am.  Then Friday happened.

As I was finishing up my last activity for the day, my phone rang.  It was number from an area code I didn't recognize.  My first instinct was to hang up, but decided to answer it this time.  "Hello?" I said with some contempt.

"Hi, my name is John Smith.  I am a recruiter from American Eagle Airlines (an American Airlines owned regional airline) and was wondering if you have a minute to talk."  Immediately, my heart jumped and adrenaline rushed into my brain like a broken dam.

"Uh, yes.  Can you give me one second?" I was standing in the middle of the hall and didn't want to bring attention to myself.  I made my way outside the building to talk.  As I talked to the man on the other side of the phone, my mind began to race.  They wanted me to interview for a First Officer position and was wondering if I was still interested.  Of course, I said yes.  It wasn't the first such phone call I'd received offering me a chance to interview flying passengers.  In October, I received a call from a sketchy operation in Denver.  After some research, I decided to not apply.  A few months ago, I received an offer to fly a jet for a rich guy in Tampa.  Unfortunately, it offered too little compensation, too little stability, and too little flying for me to consider it.

Somehow this phone call was different.  This was a real opportunity.  Before we hung up, he said I'd be receiving an email in a few days to set up a time to interview.  As I took a deep breath following the conversation, I suddenly felt woefully unprepared.  I hadn't expected any attention until July or August (or maybe I hoped).  I mean, I only have 1330 hours.  At this stage in the game, I'm not employable until 1500.  So, I spent the weekend scouring the internet message boards.  I began to soak up as much information as I could.  I've convinced myself that it is to learn about the company but part of me wonders if its an attempt to dissuade myself from going to an interview.

On Monday, my phone buzzed and beeped several times throughout the day.  Text messages were answered and emails were ignored.  I wasn't yet ready to face reality.  What is your problem?! -- I wanted to scream at myself. Then in the afternoon, I opened my email and glanced over the 10+ emails that had accumulated throughout the day.  Subway wanted me to buy a new footlong.  My credit card bill was ready. And there it was...or they were?  What?  As I stared at my inbox, I had two email invitations from two separate regional airlines asking me to call to set up an appointment.  As I quickly glanced over them, I immediately closed my app and went about my day.

The next time I opened the emails was that night before bed.  I read them in their entirety looking for clues...of what I don't know.  I knew it was too late to call, perhaps that's why I waited until then to open them.  Tomorrow.  I'll call tomorrow.  Yeah, that'll be good. I told myself as I rolled over and went to sleep.  On Tuesday morning, I opened the emails again and stared at them.  I'm not ready. I'll never pass an interview.  I found myself ready to hit the delete button.  Then I hopped out of bed and got in the shower.  It took me 2 more days to make the call.  As I sat in an office in the school, my hands felt cold as I dialed the numbers, one at a time.  First, to the other airline, Trans States (United Express).  I felt a sense of relief as I was told to leave a message.  Whew.  Then to American Eagle.  This time, someone answered.  In 3 minutes, I'd set up a date to interview, the 20th...two weeks.

Since then, the "what-ifs" have been spinning through my mind.  What if I choose the wrong one?  What if I don't like it?  What if I don't get offered a job?  What if I screw up in the interview?  What if the company starts furloughing pilots, it is a regional after all.  What if something better comes along down the road and I commit to one.  What if.

As I sit here in a Starbucks and study, I can't help but stand at the edge of the familiar and stare into the blackness of the unknown; my eyes squinting in a vain attempt to get a glimpse of the future.  I continue to study, to read, to refocus on the dream, but it's not easy.  Easy would be staying here.  Easy would be not taking a pay-cut.  Easy would be giving up.  I know I will continue to press-on as I chase my dream.