“What route do you fly?” is the number one question asked of airline pilots and is also probably one of the top reasons we generally avoid being in uniform if at all possible so as to not be asked this question.
It is not the fault of the passenger sitting next to us while we have to travel on company business. Most people have known someone at some point in life who probably did fly from LAX to Tokyo every other Tuesday, but I personally have never met a pilot who was able to have a schedule that predictable.
I am not quite sure why pilots have such an aversion to this question just like I am not quite sure why a “normal” person has the idea that we all fly from one city to one other city and that’s it. Back in the extremely early days of aviation (I’m talking transporting the mail before commercial passenger flights took place) the pilots were assigned to a “route”. For example, Route A went from Buffalo, NY to Detroit to Louisville and then back up to Buffalo. Route B would go from Buffalo to Pittsburgh to Columbus, OH and back up to Buffalo. You get the idea. So yes, there definitely used to be “Routes”. Then the glory days of passenger airlines came upon us, especially when the planes started flying overseas to Europe and beyond. A pilot just might be able to go from LAX to Tokyo every other Tuesday. But those days are long gone. We’re talking decades gone. Now, it is all about efficiency.
At my airline, most of the scheduled trips take me across the nation a couple of times as well as up and down one or both of the coasts. Every trip is different and for me personally, because I am at the bottom of the seniority totem pole, I never know where I’m going until I get to my base where I begin every trip. Each trip is always a new adventure with different cities and different crews to fly with. Just flying one route all the time could get quite tedious.
I would absolutely love to know where the idea became ingrained in society that pilots have only one route, but in the meantime I will do my best to answer this one question with grace and kindness.
I have seen the sun rising and setting over and over throughout the years. Sadly, their beauty gets taken for granted far too often and it takes something special to grab my attention again. The sunset or sunrise is always at it’s best when blended with clouds, mountains and thunderstorms. I was able to take this photo right after a thunderstorm had passed through and while the sun was setting. Once again I am reminded that the view from my office is truly amazing.
Saw this in the Denver airport and was lucky enough to capture the image of a pilot and his little girl sitting on his flight kit rolling along on the moving sidewalks…
Through the years I have been mistaken for being a flight attendant more frequently than I would like to remember. I have even had my own crew look at me with a puzzled look on their face wondering why they have an additional flight attendant on board that isn’t required by the FAA. Most assumptions are quelled when I make a left turn after walking onto the airplane and enter my office, the cockpit.
I am a little more lenient on the average passenger as most of them don’t know what the various uniforms and insignia mean. All they see is a woman in a uniform of some sort which usually translates into “flight attendant”.
I have been handed trash, people’s coats that they want me to hang up for them, dirty diapers and slightly used vomit bags usually accompanied by a sheepish look of apology. I accept all of these things with a smile on my face, and do what needs to be done with them.
Last week, however, I was handed a full plate of fried chicken. Yep, fried chicken.
There was one seat left in first class and so the gate agent upgraded this nice looking gentleman to the big comfy seat. As he was moving up, he stuck his plate of fried chicken toward me and told me to put it away for him. For some reason I just stood there and looked at him. Didn’t say a word. He does it again. Sticks his plate of fried chicken in front of me and says, “Here, put this away”. The flight attendant who was working first class that day quickly stepped in and told him that she would look, but that she really didn’t think she had room. He comes back with “well they always put it away for me on every other flight”. At this point I just turned around and went right back into the cockpit. A move I feel slightly guilty about, having left the flight attendant alone to deal with this fine man.
I am not sure why the fried chicken elicited such a response from me. Perhaps it was just his execution, or lack thereof, that bothered me. But for some reason, I just could not go along with being handed the chicken. It just felt rude.