The practical applications of being a pilot

Not long ago I was enjoying the sunrise at my favorite local coffee shop with a friend. This is not at all an unusual circumstance for me. In fact, I court this sort of thing. The social interaction is good for me and the coffee…well, it’s coffee. What more needs to be said?

My friend is of the intellectual sort. And I mean that in the best possible way. He’s got the gift of gab, and compassion, and understanding, and humor. Basically, he’s an all-around good guy. He is not a pilot, however.

Somehow, we make the relationship work.

On this particular day I was not just chatting with a friend over our morning ingestion of caffeine. Sure, we did our best to solve the major issues of the world. We were making pretty good progress, too. But I was also waiting for another friend.

And yes, I’ve got two friends. What about it? Friend Number 2 is a pilot. So there.

If that’s not a textbook version of social multi-tasking, I don’t know what is.

As fate would have it an impending garage door installation required Friend Number 1 to depart shortly after Friend Number 2 arrived at our well-caffeinated table. The sun was now fully up over the horizon, the humidity was rising, and there was every reason to believe an uneventfully glorious Florida day was upon us.

Friend Number 2 and I talked about aviation. But you knew that. Put two pilots together in any setting and they will eventually get around to talking about airplanes, airports, maintenance costs, hangar availability, insurance, and where the best airport diner is within a 200 nm radius.

It took us almost a whole 30 seconds to get down to it.

One of the topics we delved into with some intensity is the difference between pilots and non-pilots. Specifically how the use of the term “emergency” means one thing to the pilot group and a whole different thing to the non-pilot group.

Now, it’s probably fair at this point to emphatically exclude most first-responders and military personnel. Cops, fire fighters, EMTs, and a whole lot of folks who wear combat boots are on the aeronautical side of the “emergency” usage problem. On the other side — well, you know about the other side.

These are the people who turn on their four-way flashers while driving if a light rain shower splatters their windshield with little liquid pellets of H₂O. A situation I witnessed just last week. Sheesh.

Let’s face it, to a pilot the word “emergency” is applicable if something is seriously, life-threateningly wrong. It is not a word to bandy about when someone uses the last of the shampoo without mentioning it to the co-habitant who is headed to the store for supplies. We don’t declare disaster when we get a flat tire, or someone dings our door in a parking lot, or when we come across a small, well-contained fire.

On the subject of small, well-contained fires, Friend Number 2 and I had a bit of a run-in with that exact thing while enjoying the final sips of coffee at our al fresco table.

A kid, probably in his late teens, came scrambling onto the patio we inhabited. He looked panicked and unsure of where he was going or what he was doing. Not an altogether unheard of characteristic early in the morning, but he was looking panicked and unsure at a very high energy level. That was a little weird.

He disappeared into the coffee shop at high speed as Friend Number 2 and I continued our enjoyable reunion. Moments later the kid burst out through the coffee shop door with a fire extinguisher, which he proceeded to plop down on our table.

“Do you know how to use a fire extinguisher?” he asked with a shaky voice. “My car is on fire!”

Friend Number 2 grabbed the extinguisher and we both headed around the corner to the row of parked cars, one very agitated teenager in tow.

“Which car is on fire?” I asked as we cleared the building. There were no open flames evident. No smoke billowing out of an open car window.

The kid indicated the first car in the line. It was then we noticed a delicate wisp of white smoke floating up from the front of his car. Friend Number 2 slid along the passenger side as I took the driver’s side, opened the door and popped the hood.

I’d asked the kid to pop it, after all it’s his car. But he was too freaked out to handle the request.

“It’s electrical,” said Friend Number 2.

He was right. The acrid smell of burning conductors confirmed his diagnosis. With the hood open we could plainly see the alternator smoking away, hot as can be, stinking up the neighborhood.

“No worries, kid. It’s just the alternator. It’s not energized. Just leave it to cool off and you’ll be fine.”

Of course, driving the car would be out of the question until repairs were made. But that’s a separate issue. The kid was shaking like a private pilot applicant who had just missed three oral questions in a row. That’s when the fire trucks rolled up.

We briefed the firemen, who were similarly blasé about the whole thing. A non-event compared to what it might have been. The combination of a tank full of fuel, a rolling platform, and a panicked driver could have gone down a whole lot worse.

All of which proves the point Friend Number 2 and I had been discussing just moments earlier. Pilots deal with emergencies differently than most non-pilots. We tend to take a more productive approach to non-emergencies as well.

It’s nurture, not nature. We train for emergencies, and problems, and unexpected issues that pop up out of nowhere. We practice how to deal with the problem in a timely manner. And so, we tend to exhibit a little less panic and a little more productive behavior when the poop hits the fan.

I’m not bragging. I’m making a point. The training we receive and revisit as pilots is a key element of what makes us the people we are. I’m fairly proud of that fact. So is Friend Number 2.

I hope you are as well. If you’re not, may I suggest becoming a pilot? There’s still time.