THE GYM
One day, while in the middle of a
trip as a corporate pilot I found myself flying with a much younger captain.
Just for anonymity, we’ll call him “Luke” as in Luke Skywalker- the original
from the earliest scenes in the first Star Wars movie; young and a good pilot
but far short on knowing what the big world of airlines was like, yet yearning
to get into that first airliner cockpit as well as other things. Me, well I’d
come into that corporate job with three airlines in my past, a bachelor’s degree
in Aeronautical Science and a master’s degree in Who Gives A Shit, but Luke and
I flew very well together- he was a lot of fun.
On this trip, however, we came off of
an overnight at DFW and got a notice that our trip had been changed. Now we
were headed to San Francisco to RON and pick up another customer the following
afternoon. Looking at the dispatch Luke got giddy. Indeed our cheap-assed
management had forgone our usual nice hotel in SanFran and stuck us in a crew
hotel across from the United facility.
“Look’it this,” he nearly giggled,
“have you ever been to this hotel?”
“Yeah,” I groaned, “been there a few
times.”
“This place is crawlin’ with babe flight
attendants,” he went on having not heard me at all.
I rolled my eyes behind my
sunglasses. Having the reputation as the most happily married man in aviation,
I was far more interested in how many cable channels the room’s TV received-
and from what I could recall- this hotel only had about 9. Yet as we went to
the airport, got the aircraft and headed for SanFran Luke went on and on about
the babes at the hotel. His zero knowledge of how airline crews actually work
together and hotel together, plus having apparently seen a few too many movies
led him to the fantasy that this was some sort of a meat market as opposed to a
crummy crew hotel.
“The hotel gym is where they all hang
out,” he began to school me where I didn’t need to be schooled, “ya’ just walk
by the place and ya’ can see ‘em in there.”
I told him that he could do whatever
he wanted, but I was gonna slam-latch tonight.
“No way pal,” he insisted, “yer’
goin’ with me to the gym, I don’t wanna be there alone, it’ll look like I’m
just there for the chicks.”
“But you ARE just there for the
ladies,” I scowled, “right?”
“Well it’ll just be cooler if yer’
there too,” he insisted, “this is an order, you’ve gotta be there, you’ve gotta
do this.”
Now, anyone who really has known me
for a long time will tell you that the last thing in the world that you want to
ever say to me is any version of, “…you’ve GOT to do this.” The results will
not be happy for the person saying it. In fact I actually take someone saying,
“I’m gonna kill you,” better.
Yet all the way to SanFran and on the
van ride to the hotel, Luke said it over and over. Then he gave me a time to
meet him at the hotel gym.
Now, gyms and I do not get along. I
have, in fact, so many old hockey bangs and dings that even the treadmill set
on low makes me hurt. I’ve always said that if you ever see me running down the
street you’ll know that the guy ahead of me just stole my wallet, and the only
time I even enter a hotel gym is if the pool runs out of towels. So, up to my
room I went- slam-latch!
At the appointed time I get a call
from Luke; he’s in the gym and there are “babes” there. He wants me in there
RIGHT NOW and he’s not kidding.
Okay…fine.
I took out an old pair of cotton
running shorts that were at least a decade out of style and put them on. Then I
took my black frame sunglasses and using my glasses tool, popped out the lenses
than added a band aid wrapped around the nose bridge to give the proper nerd
effect. I wore my uniform T-shirt and my black socks and black uniform shoes.
Dressed like a total dweeb (which isn’t far from my normal look anyhow)- I
walked to the gym… fortunately, it was on my floor, so no elevator ride was
involved. Bursting through the door I gave Luke an oh-shit moment that he’ll
never forget- but that was just the start.
Sticking out my chest like a rooster
I gave a hello to the three young ladies in the gym as I strutted over to the
free weights. I proceeded to perform a bit that I saw Michael Richards do on
the old TV show “Fridays” where his dweeb character “Dick” shows up in the gym
and tries to impress the locals.
“Hey there girls,” I crowed, “I’m Wes
and Luke here is my captain. We’re corporate jet-jocks” I boastfully sighed
aloud. “He told me that I just HAD to be here and check out the (winking
clownishly) action.”
Grabbing a 10 pounder I struggled
just to make it move as I grunted loudly.
“Oh yeah,” I groaned straightening up
and leaving the weight behind, “that felt great.”
By this time Luke had his head in his
hands mumbling something about “gonna kill” me.
Next I moved on to the treadmill and
bumbled frantically as the three young ladies stood in the corner and giggled
with delight. Then I moved to the water cooler, filled a cup and poured it all
over my neck and shoulders.
“Whooo” I groaned, “workin’ up a real
sweat.”
Just as Luke stood up to grab me and
drag me out of there I nabbed a towel and wrapped it around my neck and asked
if I should go to my room where I wanted to be, or if he wanted to pump some
more iron with me? Hanging his head he said quietly that I could go now.
Pointing a pistol finger at the young
ladies I winked some more and said, “I’d give ya’ my room number… but it’s
unlisted,” and I swaggered away.
They laughed and said “Bye, bye.”
Dinner that night was a fairly somber
occasion as he said he never wanted to see me in the gym again. I said that was
the idea in the first place. By the following morning he’d cooled down quite a
bit as we sat in the lobby waiting for our van to the FBO. Crews were coming
and going and suddenly from behind me stepped one of the three flight
attendants who’d been in the gym. Luke just groaned. She was accompanied by
another young lady FA as she addressed me,
“I was just telling Tammy here about
your little show in the exercise room yesterday,” she snickered as she handed
me her business card, “if you’re ever laid over in Denver, give me a call.” Her
card had a phone number scrolled on the back. “Me too,” the other FA giggled as
she handed me her card, also with a phone number on the back.
They both just giggled and headed out
the door giving a flurty wave before getting on the UAL bus.
I thought Luke
was gonna pass out.
After their bus drove off I took both cards and stuck
them into his shirt pocket.
“Lesson in life,” I told him, “humor
beats macho… every time.”
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