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You might be a 135 pilot if...

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Timebuilder

Entrepreneur
Joined
Nov 25, 2001
Posts
4,625
You might be a 135 pilot if:

You land at TEB with a world famous mideast peace negotiator, and you're hoping he never touched his filet mignon.

You spend an extra five minutes perusing the dinner menu trying to figure out what you can have without going over your meal allotment.

You find yourself hoping the FBO got you a room in a good Holiday Inn.

You discover that the richest customers never tip.

The NY approach controller on 26.7 starts to sound like he's speaking normally.

You start to look forward to the popcorn machine at Signature as a "meal".

You buy one of those inflatable donut pillows because you're developing a flat spot from the Lear seat.


You can understand the radio calls from the six dollar speaker as you plummet into the dense air through 20 thousand at 300 knots.

You ask the lineman at PBI when they start giving out the oranges this year, because you can't eat the free T-shirt.
 
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You might be a 135 pilot if:

Making a fuel stop in Salina, KS on a trip from LA to Houston just to get the free steaks!!!!!

Flying an airplane with a "passing FL390 light", never heard of a passing FL390 light? Well it also doubles as a left engine fire warning light.

"What do you mean our Fuel card has been declined?"

"What do you mean we still owe you $20,000 from the last time we came in here?"
 
Ah yes the Jet Commander, a.k.a. Commodore or is it commode?

That brings back some fun memories, I remember making up a song about it. I don't remember all the words but here goes:

Sung to that 80's song "don't worry be happy"

When your 2000# over gross and the runway's getting short...don't worry be happy!
When your 2 hours from shore with an hours worth of gas... don't worry be happy!
When your ignitor won't fire and you're in Guyana....don't worry be happy!

It sounds much better when you’re singing it in the Commode at 4AM on another donor run!
 
Ok - so one time (as all stories must start out) - as we taxied up to the ramp at a little tiny airport in SC in our tattered, dripping cargo DC-3 we see this little old guy run out of the FBO and hop in the fuel truck, which starts with a cloud of smoke, and drive out in front of this as we stopped. We looked at each other and as we normally had to beg for service anywhere we went we thought this is great! So I hop out and start to say hello - and realized the little old guy was hopping mad - started on about how our company had been in there last year and owed him for gas and we were not leaving until it was paid up. We enjoyed the comfort of the town for a day as our owner flew down with a check (which the old man drove him into to town to cash).

Ah.... the glamour!
 

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