I Could Never Be an Airport Traffic Controller (and Other Ruminations)

I think I do some of my best self-analysis while in the shower.

Just recently, to wit:  “I could never be an airport traffic controller.”

Out the gate,  I’m already a little more than a little wired or worried about something.  Secondly, I have been called The Human Rain Delay more than once.  Often when faced with making important decisions, I tend to have a proclivity for verbalizing all my options in pro/con format which, as one might've guessed, is a real joy real for all around me.  Again, in my defense, I save this exercise for the really life-altering stuff, like purse shopping or buying a print or deciding what to order to eat.  I've also been coined "The Queen of Returns" because too many times I get whatever I'd just bought home only to have a change of heart.  It's really annoying but it's who I am.  Anyway , considering all this, it’s therefore my opinion that if I had to regularly make calls that immediately impacted whether people lived or as the case would be, NOT, then I imagine I would not be what ya’d call “an ideal candidate”.  Particularly in Boston, where the number of flights is fairly great but the real estate for landing same being very, very small (with its all 2 runways I think), yeah, I'm pretty certain I’d be a total mess.  Where I live I can actually see the way they stack the flights coming in, too. It’s amazing there aren’t a bunch of crashes everyday when they look like they’re spaced out about 5 seconds apart. Not exactly a great margin for error for large pieces of steel running on highly explosive material with landing strips that abut the ocean caravanning precious human life though the air. Yeah....just none of this bodes well for me and my skills.

I then started to imagine myself with this gig and what my one month review at Logan International would look like…

Manager: Okay, in the past month you were charged with landing 2,000 flights.

Me: That is correct.

Manager: Of those, you re-routed 500 to T.F. Green. in Providence.

Me: Yes.

Manager:  Another 500 to Manchester, NH

Me: Uh huh.

Manager : And yet another 300 to Bradley in Hartford.

Me: Yes.

Manager: In summation, you’ve managed to land only 35% of your scheduled flights.

Me:  Yes, sir. This is all true.

Manager: And yet, somehow you seemed pleased with this result. You don’t see a problem with this?

Me: Well, they did all live.

So yeah, no future in airport traffic control for me. Oh well.

The airport traffic controller pondering came to be after remebering the nightmare of my brother and his wife's expereince with trying to get to & from Boston from Maryland which was so painful that our calculations determined that driving probably would have been quicker. During the visit, my sister Kate hosted a small cookout for all of us “kids”.  Brian, Margot and myself made a pit stop to pick up some beer for the cookout and when we got back to Kate’s place,  we unpacked the bag, and an few of us noticed a small bottle of Jack Daniels.  We wondered aloud, “who’s this!?” and realized it had to have been Margot’s purchase.  I think that’s when the gibes of, “I know our family can be a little tough to take but…” came out.   However, what’d originally been a wee source of amusement for us girls would later be considered an act of sheer brilliance as far as vision goes.  As it turned out, none of the JD was even touched that day.  Back at Logan Airport waiting for their return flight,  Bri & Margot ended up being delayed  and thus stuck at Logan for SEVEN HOURS. With their untapped bottle handy in their backpack and a soda bought from the Logan’s McDonalds, their wait was shall we say,  a little more bearable.  At one point,  equally frustrated, delayed  passengers were asking for a little tip from the bottle as well.  Maybe I'll get them a flask for Christmas.

I think I need to Spain if I am going to continue with this “work” thing. I need a country that embraces the siesta.   But I don’t work in Spain, so these days around 3:00 it’s my kingdom for a cot and an unknown office. 

Speaking of siestas,  I was last week I was reminiscing with my friend Pete about the good old days at our last place of employment.  There was one story about me that didn’t quite make it back to him.   When we both had worked for this company, there was a vacant office space next to our office complete with recetion area and a number of offices.   Due to an extended gap of the tenant leaving and the building management  getting a replacement, this office space was unofficially rendered  the make-shift break room for the smokers.  So one day during my lunch break, I decided to use one of the offices that wasn’t used by the smokers to, you know,  take "a little lie down".   I  must’ve been really exhausted  because I fell asleep pretty hard and ended up going  past the 1-2 p.m. lunch hour. Around 2:20 or so, a few work friends were all, “um, where’s Jen? Anyone seen her?”  My pal Scott “helpfully” jumped in with, “bet I know where I can find her” and unbeknownst to me (of course) found me, lying on the floor -  probably drooling onto the carpet.   Never one to pass up an opportunity to further humiliate me, he went back to the office pulling 2 more co-workers back with him to my secret haven to watch me sleep. And drool.  Possibly snore.

The bonus kicker?

They never woke me up.

When I finally did wake from my slumber, I looked at my watch,  predictably freaked, jumped up and ran to the door.  However, when I opened the door,  what I saw was boxes stacked as high and wide the door.  My only thought being, “OH, SHIT. I AM.  SO BUSTED.” 

Paranoid and scarred for life, I have never taken a nap during office hours since.

Comments

[jess]

This wins the longest post award! You were saving it up, huh?

[Once More]

clearly , I felt the oft silenced topics such as fears of air traffic control and sleeping at work needed a voice. If I reached even ONE person with this diatribe, well, (pregnant pause) then I feel that it was worth it.