One of my favourite passengers is a pilot [let's call him] Richard. He's a big, loud, blustery man who gets his political news from right-wing talk-radio and who suffers from a distinct inability to pick up on everyday social cues. In short, he's a nice enough guy, but not too bright and not too sensitive. A couple of years back, when he insisted ( Read more... )

After dropping off passengers at the Trudeau International Airport in Dorval, I headed back to Ottawa driving an empty van, torn between the comforting inanities of the sports station on the radio (go Habs go!) and the distorted eco-rock of the eternally-rejuvenating Neil Young, playing with the much-younger men of Promise of the Real.

Anyway, ( Read more... )

It was a small flight crew, all male: two pilots and a single flight attendant.

The Captain was a tall man, and beefy, the First Officer maybe a decade younger, not so tall and quite thin. The Flight Attendant was bald-headed and a blocky face, a bit like a super-hero. He too was at least 10 years younger than the big Captain.

Now, one thing that ( Read more... )

The vehicle behind was a nondescript SUV. I thought it might be a Ford, but it was too begrimed with salt-stains and slush to be sure. What I did know was that it was hanging way too close to my ass, at best no more than a car-length from my van's rear bumper.

Regular drivers get all too-familiar with the idiocies that come to those given the twin ( Read more... )

In which Young Geoffrey is threatened with implicit consequences by the police and finds himself at the wheel with an octet of loud and inebriated police-women filling his vehicle.

( The women were loudly good-natured and reeking of beer as they clambered into my van, eight of them finding space in a vehicle meant for no more than seven passengers. With a conflicted good cheer of my own, I set the beast in gear and stepped gently on the accelerator, cautiously making my way out of the tight loading area and onto the mean Ottawa streets ... )

Of pilots, flight attendants and "accidental anorexia"

My run to Montreal this afternoon was uneventful, and quiet. The three members of that crew were each plugged in to their various electronic devices. I turned on the radio and caught up with the world via CBC.

Then came a two-and-a-half-hour delay before the return trip could begin. I drove ( Read more... )

Driving a group of five (one pilot, one co-pilot, three flight attendants) to Montreal the other day, I was privileged to over-hear the following conversation.

Flight Attendant #1: So, I heard the company is revising the pre-flight checklist for co-pilots.

All: Really?

Flight Attendant #1: Heard it right from [big-wig's executive assistant].

Co ( Read more... )

Among my passengers there seems little in the way of consensus about my status. Professional, like a Greyhound driver, and so beyond tipping, or more like a long-haul cab driver and thus, deserving of a cash thank-you?

Thus far, things range from nothing at all, to a handful of change, to my very first passenger, a pilot by name of Mike, who has ( Read more... )

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