"The Glamour of Aviation" -- A One Act Play

[CE402]

By........The Flightinfo Players

Scene: The pilot briefing room of an unnamed turboprop regional airline. The time is 0445. The stench of stale coffee and disinfectant hangs in the air like an invisible fog. Captain Smith walks in to find First Officer Jones sleeping peacefully -- his head flat on the crooked wooden desk next to the 1983 model dot-matrix printer. A growing puddle of drool, oddly shaped like Lake Erie, glistens on the wrinkled manifest under his ear. Captain Smith chases two Advil with water cupped in the palm of his hand. The water tastes like the plastic water cooler that dispensed it. The swallowing reflex triggers a gastric event: The gaseous by-products of a 7-11 breakfast burrito rise like the morning sun, past his esophagous, and fill his cheeks. A long, slow exhale tinges the room with a burrito-esque aroma.

Captain Smith: "Dang....that was a face fart if there ever was one. Come on, dude....get up."

FO Jones: "Hmmmphmph?" (Wipes chin with tie)

Captain Smith: "Your leg, sparky....There's a good chance I might throw chow soon"

Continued...... (any other budding playwrites...feel free)

 

[Vladimir Lenin]

Captain Smith: "Your leg, sparky....There's a good chance I might throw chow soon"

No sooner than he said that, Captain Smith vomited on FO Jones, covering him in orange hued goo, with little pieces of green peppers poking through like emeralds. The goo glistened under the fluorescent lighting, reflecting the Coke machine in the corner

 

[NewBlue]

Slight edit. "The glamour of Aviation." A stunning play in one unnatural act!

 

[CE402]

FO Jones staggered to the janitor's closet where he showered himself under the faucet, leaning awkwardly to avoid the "Caution wet floor" yellow mop bucket sitting in the sink. The industrial strength soap removed the glistening goo from his hair and neck, but left his skin feeling like parmesaen cheese, post-grater. He made his way to the still-dark parking lot where he reunited with his Metallic Green Pea 1978 Ford Granada. He accessed it through the passenger door, which had been the only access to the front seat of the car since 1981 --several proud owners ago. Under the front seat, he found it -- the "backup" -- the "do not use unless vomit or condiments require" instant-use emerency pilot shirt with epaulets pre-installed. The one with the pit stains. He would need a new t-shirt too, as there was a small degree of fabric penetration. The only one available was an off-white "Friends don't let friends drink blended whiskey" all cotton tee. The grayish hue to the "Backup" would obscure the lettering, he thought.

Meanwhile...in the briefing room:

Captain Smith: "Strangely, I feel hungry again..."

 

[johnny taliban]

Captain Smith was an old timer who had long since lost that hopeful glee that young Jones carried with him. The only day dreaming Smith did was of what could have been, not what could be. Hopefully,this little airline would be his last stop. Two furloughs and three wives ago "Smitty" as his comtempories called him,was alot like F/O Jones. Young, eager, and clueless about the career he had chosen.

 

[GravityHater]

good to see those Into to Literature 101 courses have not gone to waste.
Thx for the laff.

 

[Cardinal]

FO Jones (Walks in, head down, buttoning shirt) "Sorry about this shirt, it kinda grod-
CA Smith (Interrupting) "Who the fkcu cares? I'm gonna scrounge some pepto, and I'll meet you out there. Fuel truck's on it's way, tell 'em 50 a side."

 

[bobbysamd]

continued . . . .

CA Smith: "By the way, how did you get hired here?"

FO Jones: "Well, I had planned to go to college and had been accepted to Harvard, but then I read in some pilot magazine that a friend showed me there was a pilot shortage. That magazine could have been Career Pilot or Airline Pilot Careers Magazine, run by some dude by the name of Darby. Then, I saw an ad in the mag that said I could come work here in nine months, just by going to its school and paying $54,997. And, the best thing was that I did not have to go to college because it was more important to get something called 'TJPIC' time early to be ready for the upcoming 2007 hiring boom. I told mom and dad I wanted to be a pilot, to forget about Harvard, and that I wanted to go to this school. So, they paid for my training and I landed here. But I only plan to stay here long enough until the majors hire me to fly A380s. That should be only a few months."

Smith: "How many hours did you say you have?"

Jones: "About 500, with 300 being SIC."

Smith: (who took out loans to go to college and learn how to fly, is still paying on his loans, instructed for five years, signing off one hundred fifty Private students in the process, and flew Lances and BE-99s at Ameriflight single-pilot before being hired with 2000 hours, throws up, despite taking the Pepto)

 

[BD King]

Doggone. I may have to publish this. Now, someone has to introduce the FA to the plot.

www.bdkingpress.com

 

[bobbysamd]

continued . . .

Doggone. I may have to publish this. Now, someone has to introduce the FA to the plot.

FA Hilton (female, who has flown for the company for fifteen years, starting in Shorts and whose seniority holds this morning's equipment, a CRJ): "Good morning."

Jones: "Hiya. What are you doing after your shift?"

Smith: (throws up)

Hilton: (throws up)

 

[Clutch_Cargo]

Boyz...

That's one rippin' good yarn!! Keep it up. You could publish it and get outta this crazy biz. It should be required reading for every Aviation 101 class out there... it could single-handedly put an end to the supply of new aviation recruits!

cc

 

[coolyokeluke]

After the gastric disaster cleanup, FO Jones hustles out into the morning gloom, out the revolving door of the FBO covered in knife scratched graffitti. "For a good time call Gulfstream Academy 1800..."
The morning is damp, foggy and cold. The fog droplets are visible in the yellowish glare of the flourescent flood lights dimly illuminating the ramp. FO Jones digs through the bottom of his flight bag, his hand deflty weaving through the Jepp updates from the past two months and his headset to clutch the cool metallic cylinder of his mag light. Thumbing the rubber button, the light flashes on brightly and immediatley begins to dim. "These D cells are eating a dissproportionate amount of my income" Smith thinks. A nervous pang of worry builds in his stomach as he thinks about the loan payment due on Friday.
"I feel the need, the need for speed!" he recites his favorite TopGun quote as he approaches the CRJ for a preflight.

 

[urflyingme?!]

RIiiiiiiiiing.

Jones' ancient Nokia comes to life. "Jones this is crew scheduling. Your flight has been canceled. We don't have a hotel for you right now but, uh, well we'll see what happens."

"When's the next flight supposed to be then?" Jones mutters as he tosses his mag into his Scott Leather flight that grandad gave him, now covered with a large bumper sticker reading "Pilots do it doggy style." He wonders what he was going to get for it when his ebay auction ends.

"Umm, we'll see, uh (mumbles) 6 AM tommorrow.... CLICK"

 

[johnny taliban]

Smith ,ever the consummate professional pulls Jones aside and lectures him concerning fraternization with company flight attendants: "Jones, didn't you know Johnson was gay? Not that there is anything wrong with that."

 

[coolyokeluke]

Jones collapses in a hard plastic chair and takes a sip of the coffee that had been on the burner well past TBO. The captain's attempt at CRM/leadership had left him deflated. Stuck in po-dunk, no money, still dark and cold out, can't hang out with the fun flight attendent, no hotel, student loans due, and hanging with Capt Smith who was almost as bitter as the coffee. His enthusiasm was ebbing like the sea before a tidal wave. What was a guy to do? The Chinese word for chaos was the same as opportunity, wasn't it? Living well is the best revenge? Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? CARPE DIEM!