Sometimes I forget

In the past two years, I’ve done this twice. I’m not proud of it, but I’m not ashamed either. Human error is part of our makeup. That’s why it’s called human error, because we are human and we make so many mistakes.

Here’s the scenario. After returning home from doing errands, I stop into my office, empty my pockets, and invariably discover a second errand or task that needs to be done out and about. I grab a hat, scratch the dog behind her ears, hold a short conversation that she never really seems to have much interest in, and I head out to find success and satisfaction in the larger world that lies beyond my front door.

The last time this happened I didn’t notice how badly I’d screwed up until I went to open the car door. I drive a Prius, which senses the key fob in my pocket and unlocks automatically. But it didn’t unlock, which I thought was a bit weird. So, I stepped back, waved to Herbie, my neighbor across the street, and tried the door handle again. No luck. That’s when it occurred to me that I might be an idiot.

Herbie sat on his front porch enjoying a cigarette and a cup of coffee, as he is wont to do. I straightened up, acknowledged my screw-up, and announced, “I just locked myself out of the house.” Herbie nodded knowingly and smiled in my general direction. 

What can I tell you? Sometimes, I forget. I forget why I walked into the kitchen, or the garage, or which tool I was hoping to find in the shed. It happens.

Mistakes take all sorts of forms. For instance, while sitting on my own porch last evening, waiting for the summer rain to roll in and cool the landscape after a scorching hot summer afternoon, I found my mind wandering as my eyes roamed across the landscape. 

My house sits beside a small city-owned park. Across the street the intersection of two streets is marked by a sign. As the sun set the sign’s reflective green paint and bright white lettering blazed with a tinge of orange. The top sign announced Vernon Avenue. The lower indicated 11^th Street. 

Neither the park or my house is located on Vernon Avenue or 11^th Street. One of those signs is in the wrong place. It’s on the wrong street, providing inaccurate information to anyone who glances up at it in an effort to get their bearings. 

These things happen. 

While tinkering in the hangar the other day a friend and I were chatting. We found ourselves discussing recent flights and the status of our aircraft.

My buddy, who will remain nameless, recalled that on his last flight he’d done some pattern work to keep his skills sharp. He did stop and taxi-back takeoffs, which happen to be my preference, too. I’ve done touch-and-goes of course. I’ve done them as a student and as a CFI, but I prefer to use the whole runway, so more often than not I taxi back, as my friend did.

On one takeoff he noticed the airspeed didn’t seem to be quite right. The airplane was climbing, but not at the attitude or with the vertical speed he might expect.

Something just seemed off. He couldn’t put his finger on the problem, but since he was climbing out and successfully gaining altitude he didn’t worry about it too much. Still, something was definitely wrong. Knowing that bugged him. Not being able to figure out what was causing the issue bugged him even more.

It wasn’t until he was abeam the numbers on downwind, made his power reduction, retrimmed the airplane, and prepared to pull in the first notch of flaps that he recognized his error. The flaps were already in. All of them.

Because he’d already taken off and landed prior to this additional trip around the pattern, he didn’t bother to pull out the short checklist that would guide him through the process of configuring the airplane for takeoff. As a result, he took off in the landing configuration. He launched skyward with full flaps. He had plenty of drag, but not as much lift as he might like.

Oops. 

Hey, I’m not making fun of him. I’m the guy who locked himself out of his own house twice in the last two years. I’m just saying…we all make mistakes.

Fortunately, my buddy learned a valuable lesson from his most recent departure from normal procedures. He’s got a vibrantly fresh reminder to use the damn checklist. Every time, no matter what.

Sure, he flew, the airplane climbed, and they eventually gained enough altitude to fly the pattern and discover the problem. But it only worked out because he was flying solo.

We discussed that. If he’d had passengers with him on such a hot, humid morning, and he’d persisted in taking off regardless of the nagging sense that something was wrong, a full-flap takeoff would have put him in the trees at the end of the runway.

The checklist is our friend. But it only works if we use it. That being the case, I think it’s time I make up a pre-leaving the house checklist so I don’t lock myself out of the house anymore.

And maybe I’ll suggest a checklist for the crews that install street signs, too. It might be worth verifying which street they’re installing the sign on before they leave the job site.

Just because the sign fits doesn’t mean it’s the right sign for the placement they’ve chosen.

And just because the prop is spinning, it doesn’t mean you’re ready to go.