You know you're a contract pilot in African when...
THUNDERTAILED
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You know you're a contract pilot in African when...
you are shacked up with several other desperadoes
who are all still owed S&T's by some cheating b@stard or other
and are always moaning about the felectricity or the fair conditioners not fworking afgain
or just the fFrench itself
who all cant wait to get back to the states back to the cutest girl in the world
with bulging wallets (not dollars, only Seefa)
you spend a few days wondering why you were stupid enough to have bought all these expensive clothes in your wardrobe when you know perfectly well you can exist in your shorts and your t-shirt.
and when she finds out you're only staying a few days instead of the promised two weeks, she's gonna divorce you (again)
and your flight bag contains bad photocopies of plates for airfields with unpronounceable names, and maps with only brown on them
and old crumpled checklists with half the items crossed out
and a small pile of gendecs with carbon paper for when everyone from the cleaner to the governor want gendecs
every flight you make you resolve not to again forget to charge the handheld you keep in your bag in case of emergencies
and to remember to chase that oke that still owes you money
and to remember that the P1 side AH is U/S and the left hand fuel guage overreads by 20%
and hope that by the time you land enough fuel will be burned off to enable you to make the mauw landing when you get there
who are all still owed S&T's by some cheating b@stard or other
and are always moaning about the felectricity or the fair conditioners not fworking afgain
or just the fFrench itself
who all cant wait to get back to the states back to the cutest girl in the world
with bulging wallets (not dollars, only Seefa)
you spend a few days wondering why you were stupid enough to have bought all these expensive clothes in your wardrobe when you know perfectly well you can exist in your shorts and your t-shirt.
and when she finds out you're only staying a few days instead of the promised two weeks, she's gonna divorce you (again)
and your flight bag contains bad photocopies of plates for airfields with unpronounceable names, and maps with only brown on them
and old crumpled checklists with half the items crossed out
and a small pile of gendecs with carbon paper for when everyone from the cleaner to the governor want gendecs
every flight you make you resolve not to again forget to charge the handheld you keep in your bag in case of emergencies
and to remember to chase that oke that still owes you money
and to remember that the P1 side AH is U/S and the left hand fuel guage overreads by 20%
and hope that by the time you land enough fuel will be burned off to enable you to make the mauw landing when you get there
Gatvol
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OR
When you get the Instrument panel lights fixed because you flew overwater the (no moon) night before with the Maintenance Chief onboard. (holding your mini-mag)
OR
When you have to overnight in Karonga because Gerry Broberg says its a Beautiful seaside resort on Lake Malawi.
When you get the Instrument panel lights fixed because you flew overwater the (no moon) night before with the Maintenance Chief onboard. (holding your mini-mag)
OR
When you have to overnight in Karonga because Gerry Broberg says its a Beautiful seaside resort on Lake Malawi.
Join Date: Nov 2002
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Where do I sign up?
Hey that sure sounds a lot better than sitting on my ahrss here in the states becuase some pencil pushing bean counter says that I don't have enough time to drive a cessna 206. BS to his MBA. they are the ones who are killing aviation in the general sence. good riddince.
THUNDERTAILED
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when you're working somewhere where there's no ice or change and a foreign CAA inspector boards every second flight.
when the papi's would have you fly into the mud about a mile short of the crumbling threshold
when you hear 'Cairo Control', 'Tripoli Control', Mickey Mouse and lots of loud swishing noises all at the same time on the same HF frequency
when you can see the road through the alleged 'floor' in the 40-year old Hillan Hunter taxi which is by now coated in about 845kg of yellow paint
when you find yourself taxiing a large aircraft between hordes of passengers strolling across the apron
if your salary is now 60% of what it used to be 2 years ago due to the strong rand
when the papi's would have you fly into the mud about a mile short of the crumbling threshold
when you hear 'Cairo Control', 'Tripoli Control', Mickey Mouse and lots of loud swishing noises all at the same time on the same HF frequency
when you can see the road through the alleged 'floor' in the 40-year old Hillan Hunter taxi which is by now coated in about 845kg of yellow paint
when you find yourself taxiing a large aircraft between hordes of passengers strolling across the apron
if your salary is now 60% of what it used to be 2 years ago due to the strong rand
Join Date: Dec 2002
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And for some reason everyone wants to shake your hand, and you know there's no soap nor toilet paper out in the sticks. Ahh, mon ami! Carried bog roll and wetwipes in the flightbag, and Imodium.
Wheels Up, know the feeling, eventually spoke nicely to the folks, moved back in and took 3 months unpaid, otherwise notes would still be unopened.
Now EFIS, etc and I miss the bundu, are we ever happy?
Who said AN12's, hairs on arms standing up.
Wheels Up, know the feeling, eventually spoke nicely to the folks, moved back in and took 3 months unpaid, otherwise notes would still be unopened.
Now EFIS, etc and I miss the bundu, are we ever happy?
Who said AN12's, hairs on arms standing up.
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...The last item on your personal checklist before leaving the flight deck is to don your gloves to counter those locals who wish to shake hands directly after extracting forearm up to the elbow from a huge nostril and smearing a half kilo of assorted crud on your paw.
You can order beer and chicken in five languages but can't understand what your ops manager says on the HF/Satphone.
Prefer the local brew to the imported SAB stuff (who doesn't?).
Confuse and p@ss off counter people at home when it comes to buying stuff as your wallet is always full of monopoly money and foreign shrapnel.
Wake up in the morning at home and wonder where you are.
You can order beer and chicken in five languages but can't understand what your ops manager says on the HF/Satphone.
Prefer the local brew to the imported SAB stuff (who doesn't?).
Confuse and p@ss off counter people at home when it comes to buying stuff as your wallet is always full of monopoly money and foreign shrapnel.
Wake up in the morning at home and wonder where you are.
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When the tower gives you instructions in Portugese and you have to carry a brown envelope full of US dollars to pay for your fuel, landing fees, etc. because nobody accepts the local currency. And the runway is blocked with cattle. And despite all the desperate poverty everyone is always smiling......
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the best way of knowing that you are a contract pilot is when you are being screwed by a south african operator whose directors are driving around in several very expensive cars and you drive a car which is worth a fifth of their 2nd car.....
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-OR- When your copy of "HANDLING THE BIG JETS" is starting to look a bit rough around the edges from being a door stop in various s...holes.
and seeing an Antonov close up in the air does not scare you as much as it is supposed to.
and seeing an Antonov close up in the air does not scare you as much as it is supposed to.
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contractcrap
when......
the power and net have been running perfect for the last 5 days that you've been waiting in the latest ****hole for "VIP's" and then cut out when the invoice is just about to be sent....
the power and net have been running perfect for the last 5 days that you've been waiting in the latest ****hole for "VIP's" and then cut out when the invoice is just about to be sent....
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When you sleep on the concrete tiles because the electricity is non-existent and it's too hot in the sheets.
When you have no water, power or phones - do a charter to an equal c**phole that does and the OPS wally's first sentence is "where are the weekly reports?"
Some guys really revelled in it though, they could make it their own. Hilton's memory will never fade....
When you have no water, power or phones - do a charter to an equal c**phole that does and the OPS wally's first sentence is "where are the weekly reports?"
Some guys really revelled in it though, they could make it their own. Hilton's memory will never fade....
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putco
The Hilton is looking a bit dodgy right now. Don't know if the ICRC have got round to fixing it yet. The Sheraton is a bit better but not so convenient for the bar. Sheraton infested with camel spiders that gallop over your wedding tackle while you're lying on the bed at night buck naked because of the heat. Guaranteed to raise the heart rate........
Errrr, this is Loki, folks....
The Hilton is looking a bit dodgy right now. Don't know if the ICRC have got round to fixing it yet. The Sheraton is a bit better but not so convenient for the bar. Sheraton infested with camel spiders that gallop over your wedding tackle while you're lying on the bed at night buck naked because of the heat. Guaranteed to raise the heart rate........
Errrr, this is Loki, folks....
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You know you USEDto be a contract pilot in Africa when the camel spiders are replaced by nubile young hostie fingers but the tackle is still tickled. When the Real hiltons are considered substandard, and a glass cockpit doesnt mean youve got your shaving mirror in yer flight bag.
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...but you still yearn for the fishy fingers to remind you of a night of passion at trackmark courtesy of a scarily large finnish red cross nurse.....
oh and a few sweeties in yer lunch (cool)box from the trackmark management.
hours of fun nuking those little roof dwelling bushy taled mouse lookin muthafookers with a lighter and a can of doom...
or a cobra on yer doorstep....
nope thought about it ..i prefer the five fingers of a hostie to the eight legs of a camel spider ..unless it was trained by Tara.
N1 Bug up flap one ...and wheres my effing coffee
oh and a few sweeties in yer lunch (cool)box from the trackmark management.
hours of fun nuking those little roof dwelling bushy taled mouse lookin muthafookers with a lighter and a can of doom...
or a cobra on yer doorstep....
nope thought about it ..i prefer the five fingers of a hostie to the eight legs of a camel spider ..unless it was trained by Tara.
N1 Bug up flap one ...and wheres my effing coffee
