The tale of Mr. Medium Shot (a.k.a. Kip the Cage Fighter)

Recently I was on an airplane and we were on our taxi to the runway when from behind there’s a cell phone ring. They guy answers it and carries on a conversation. This is after the flight attendants have announced three (3!) times to turn off all electronic devices.
But, as I have seen, the rules only apply to those who are not as important as Mr Big Shot (which, I might note was sitting in the economy cabin… thus diminishing him to perhaps Mr. Medium Shot). Anyhow…

Electronic devices being used within seconds of our takeoff roll is a real peeve for me because I have read accident reports were interference from electronic devices have caused problems in the communications and navigation equipment. Think about it… the federal regulation exists for a reason. Duh! But Mr. Medium Shot thought nothing of putting the lives of 150+ people in jeopardy.

I turned around in my seat and sternly said “Turn that phone off now!” I stunned him enough that he complied and from the adjacent seats I heard several “Thank you” comments.

When the plane landed, Mr. Medium Shot followed me off the plane and told me I had no right to talk to him like that. I could have asked him nicely. To which I thought… Ya, the three (3!) times the flight attendants asked you nicely worked so well, didn’t it? But I didn’t say anything. I just kept walking

Then Mr. Medium Shot told me his uncle is a pilot and told him that cell phones can’t interfere with the plane’s electronics. To which I thought… Wow, ignorance runs through several stains of your blood line. But I didn’t say anything. I just kept walking.

Seeing he wasn’t getting the response from me that he’d hoped for, Mr. Medium Shot told me he was a cage fighter and he was going to follow me out of the airport and kick my ass. To which I thought… My God, it’s Kip from Napoleon Dynamite. But I didn’t say anything. I just kept walking.

Then Mr. Medium Shot said I yelled at him because I have a small penis and yelling at him made me feel like more of a man. To which I thought… Really? You’re bringing my penis size into this? I must have really wounded your ego when I told you to turn off your phone.

Mr. Medium Shot realized he wasn’t provoking me as he’d wished. This made him even more angry so he started pushing me and poking me. Lord, is this buffoon really going to start a fight with me right here in the terminal. I could not help be imagine how he much struggle with the relationships in his life. I thought about asking him about it. But I didn’t say anything. I just kept walking.

Mr. Medium Shot then got more verbal and more physical. As he was so focused on his aggression he failed to realize then while I was walking… with my eyes focused straight ahead, I was on a quest. A quest to find an Atlanta police officer and when I did, I walked right up to him as Mr. Medium Shot continued to berate me, not even taking notice of the police officer standing there.

I politely told the officer what happened on the plane, to which Mr. Medium Shot told the offer I should not have spoken to him in the tone of voice that I did. The police officer then said to Mr. Medium Shot… Do you realize that having your cell phone on after the boarding door closes is a federal offense?

As Mr. Medium Shot stuttered and stammered to come up with a response, I politely thanked the officer for helping to ensure Mr. Medium Shot would not follow me out of the airport and assault me, as he had promised. Then Mr. Medium Shot turned his anger toward the officer. I just giggled and walked away. I was probably 100 feet down the corridor when I looked back and there were now two officers talking to Mr. Medium Shot.

As I walked to my connecting gate, I had to smile inside at the irony of it all... not about what happened... rathar that I was able to keep my mouth shut as he gave me so many opportunities to fire back some really funny one-liners.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.RichGasaway.com

Surviving a plane crash

I recently taught a firefighter safety program at the Utah Winter Fire School in St. George, Utah. To get there I flew Delta Airlines from Minneapolis to Salt Lake City and then SkyWest Airlines from Salt Lake City to St. George. I always scares me to fly on commuter planes. I know too much about airline safety and accidents. I know that many commuter pilots have far less experience on the flight deck than their seasoned counterparts who fly large commercial airplanes. I also know that lack of experience can lead to accidents (not necessarily on Sky West, but on commuter flights in general).

As we flew over the Dixie National Forest and Zion National Park, the landscape didn't change much - Lots of snow covered mountains, wilderness and frozen lakes. Once we crossed over the last plateau before St. George, the sun had just set and the lights of the city were in view. I could even see the airport off the port side (left side) if the plane. From the air, airports that land commercial airlines are not difficult to see. There is a large, rotating green and white beacon and there are strobe likes blinking in sequence to guide the pilot to the center of the runway.

There was no doubt in my mind that what I saw off the left was plane was the airport. Only problem is... we weren't turning left toward the airport, we were flying straight ahead. As I watched us lose altitude, I reasoned with myself that the pilot would, at some point, bank left and we would be on course to land at the airport. But that didn't happen. We kept going straight and we kept losing altitude.

Panic started to set in. Was I the only one that could see we were NOT landing at the AIRPORT? Should I depress my flight attendant call button and request she notify the pilots they we were landing in the wrong place? I held my composure, though I still contemplate if that was the right thing to do.

We were still several thousand feet above the city lights so, technically, there was still time for the pilots to turn the craft and land at the airport. Then... much to my startlement, we made contact with the ground. I about had a bowel movement right there in seat 3A. The pilots seemed to be in control of the plane. That is to say we were not tumbling tail over nose ala the United Airlines Flight 232 that landed in the corn field in Sioux City, Iowa in 1989.

It sure seemed plausible to me that we'd landed in a corn field. How could a small town like St. George, Utah have TWO airports? But, as I looked out the window, we did appear to be at an airport. There was a terminal and a jetway. I got off the plane and sent a text message to my host that I was ready for pick up.

When he arrived at the airport, the first thing he said was "I wasn't sure if I should pick you up at the old airport or the new airport." "New airport?" I inquired. "Yes" he replied. "It opened this morning. It was a big deal here. We even had the governor in town. Did you know we have a new airport?" the host asked. "I sure do and I even know where it's located."

There I stood... in the "old airport"... feeling stupid in my perspiration-soaked shirt... having survived the closest thing to a plane crash I had ever experienced.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
http://www.richgasaway.com/

Above the rules

Recently I was on a flight from Minneapolis to Denver. The forward door was closed and the flight attendant instructed everyone to turn off and stow their electronic devices.

Apparently the guy sitting next to me had some sort of special dispensation from the rules as he continued to text. No big deal, we haven't pulled away from the gate yet, so I let it go.

Then we started our push back... still texting.

Then we were on our taxi down the tarmack toward the runway... still texting.

If there is a downside to all the research I have done on aviation safety it's knowing a little too much about how accident occur, including how latent two-way devices (like cell phones and wi-fi) have impacted the navigation equipment on the flight deck.

I politely asked the guy to turn off his device. He snarled and cussed at me and told me to mind my own business. I guess I could have told him it was my business because if the plane crashes because of his text messaging, I would be very inconvenienced by that.

I simply said the flight attendant had instructed the passengers to turn off and stow all electronic devices. He cussed at me again.

I told him if he didn't turn it off I would call for the flight attendant. He snarled and cussed again. DING - went the bell as I depressed the flight attendant call button. The flight attendant had already been seated and belted so she was not real happy to get up and come back to see what the problem was.

I told her what had transpired (and the guy was STILL texting). She told him to turn it off and stow it. He cussed at her and told her he'd turn it off when he was done. She told him if he didn't turn it off right now, she'd ask the pilot to return to the gate and he would be removed.

He turned it off, jammed it down into the carry-on bag between his legs, searched through the bag and angrily pulled out a copy of "Flying" magazine and prominently set it on his lap so I could see it.

Honestly, did he think I would be impressed that he owned a magazine with a Cessna on the cover? Well, if that's what he was going for, he was surely disappointed when I didn't apologize for asking a "pilot" (assuming he was one and hadn't simply found a copy of the magazine on the floor in the bathroom stall) to turn off his cell phone during the taxi.

He spent the next forty minutes turning the pages of the magazine with such anger that each flip made a loud noise. He wasn't happy with me and I was sending me a message.

Why do some people think they are above the rules?

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.RichGasaway.com

Hammer time.

I was recently in the airport on my way to Baltimore. I was dropped off about an hour in advance, which is a little tighter than I usually like to run things, but it just started out to be one of those days. It was a Wednesday and at that hour of the morning I did not think the airport would be all that busy. Boy, was I wrong. The cars trying to maneuver in to drop people off were all jockeying for the best position. I don't get this... the person they are going to drop off is probably going to walk a half mile once they get inside the airport terminal. So stop inching your way in for the curbside spot. Just stop the car and get 'em unloaded for crying out loud.

Carol doesn't vie for a position. She wheels up, stops, and I have about thirty seconds to unload, hug, say goodbye, and she's on her way. Very efficient... as it should be. The curbside baggage handler station was lined 10 deep. Where did all these people come from? The line for the security check point was a hundred deep and moving at a pace that allowed me to believe TSA was not prepared for this rush of travelers either. Don't these people know we're in a recession? Shouldn't they be home, curled up in the fetal position, worried about their 401k's and job security?

The time was ticking away on the large clock, prominently displayed over the security check point. I kept looking at the time on my cell phone, as if it were going to be different than the time on the wall clock. It wasn't. I was going to be late. Maybe even miss my flight. I could hear the TSA agents barking the usual orders "Remove all liquids and gels from your carry-on and put them in a one quart clear plastic bag." "Remove your shoes." "Remove your coat." "Take your laptop out of the case." My God... have these people never traveled before? It was then I realized there should be two lines. One for those who know how to get through a security check point, and one for those who think those warnings about the liquids and gels somehow don't apply to them.

I finally got up for enough to get my stuff on the roller table in preparation for the X-ray. I felt some relief. I was almost there. Only fifty minutes to my boarding time and the walk to my gate would take ten. It was going to work out after all. Then... the X-ray machine ground to a halt. I heard the screener say the lone word I did not want to hear... "Supervisor." Actually, she had to say it three times before she got one's attention. The supervisor approached and the screener pointed to something on the screen and they talked in a low voice. It was the bag ahead of mine that was causing concern... but nonetheless, the X-ray machine was not putting my bags through.

I passed through the personal X-ray scanner and waiting patiently. The TSA agent and her supervisor were still having a pow-wow. Then she turned the screen in our direction and said to the guy in front of me... "Sir, are these hammers inside this suitcase?" He replied "Yes." The TSA agent said "You can't take hammers on the airplane." The guy became angry and started arguing with the TSA agent, as if she was someone going to, on the spot, make an exception to the TSA's prohibited items list. All the while, I could hear the voice of Bill Engvall saying "Here's your sign." Come on... hammers!?! Three of them to be exact. Just Taser the dude, drag his carcass out of the way and get that X-ray belt rolling again, I have a plane to catch.

I made my plane... barely. When I got to my destination hotel, I was emptying out my suitcase and came along a stash of lotions, conditioners, and shampoos... like six bottles of the stuff... that my wife had absconded from the Embassy Suites on our trip to Oklahoma City the previous week. Thankfully, the TSA agents were hammering out bigger problems and my bag sailed right through.