The Captain
I have also started to think that since men pilots stopped appearing in cigarette adverts alongside unfeasibly manicured admirers of fag smoke, or as heroic characters in disaster movies, being a pilot is no longer a male fantasy, but ranks alongside veterinarian science as a career choice. Marvelous being a vet, amazing for sure, but, you know, it is slightly less photogenic than piloting. I think that the perceived loss of poseur power has discouraged a certain demographic from applying to attend pilot school.
Our aforementioned womanly pilot stepped out of the cockpit ( shouldn't that be the henpit?) to reassure us as we sat on the plane waiting for a 'window' to take off. Using incomprehensible but impressive terminology such as 'apron', 'hopping on' and reassuring us that Brussels was aware of our predicament had limited impact. As soon as the French air control was mentioned obliquely as
the possible 'source of the problem', however, a knowing murmur rose uniformly from the cabin. The French. Of course. Now everyone sat back and relaxed. The French and their 'funny ways' nodded sagely the mature gentleman in the seat opposite. A few passengers shook their heads. 'The French'. They were responsible. Everything made sense again. Suddenly waiting became a show of maturity. 'We'll show (them) how grown up we are'.
the possible 'source of the problem', however, a knowing murmur rose uniformly from the cabin. The French. Of course. Now everyone sat back and relaxed. The French and their 'funny ways' nodded sagely the mature gentleman in the seat opposite. A few passengers shook their heads. 'The French'. They were responsible. Everything made sense again. Suddenly waiting became a show of maturity. 'We'll show (them) how grown up we are'.
The captain cut an incredibly swish figure as she addressed us. Sharp as something that epitomizes sharpness as a concept, (pin? knife? razor?) she stood sideways like an archer taking aim, her head looking over her right shoulder and speaking into the microphone. She spoke clearly in a way that made me feel that this pilot knew best. Male pilots always make me think that they have forgotten something...like refueling, for instance. I had to shake the childish thought that she might at any moment 'turn' and have me standing in the corner wearing a pointy hat with a big D on it.
Soon after the 'apron' became available ( a bit of the airstrip apparently) Brussels gave us the nod and Captain Fabulous pulled that throttle, or something, and catapulted us into the fluffy clouds. We all sat back happy that Brussels had seen our side and that 'the French' had not won this one. We proceeded to ascend victoriously to the appropriate height. Our pilot occasionally spoke and a surprising silence fell upon us each time. Pilot knows best after all, and flying is as safe as houses again.

Comments
Post a Comment
Your comments are my way of improving this discourse, so thank you in advance.