Henri lights up the Jazz Sim in TO!

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Springbok
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Henri lights up the Jazz Sim in TO!

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The Jazz gate agent looked at me and smiled. I think I detected….lust? Who could blame her? Before her stood 5 1/2 feet of French-Canadian manhood. A yellow rose stood at attention in my lapel, and my ruby red leather tie had been polished to a glowing hue. A freshly polished tie pin with a flashy “Camaro” logo smartly skewered the knot at my neck. North of that, my goatee was freshly trimmed, and a piece of cinnamon gum snapped tantalizingly in my mouth. A gold chain about two inches long swung from my left ear, an airplane charm dangling professionally at the end.
8)
The hair was a work of art, flowing in glorious form. It was all business up front, slicked back tightly against my scalp and combed perfectly to one side. But as your eyes progress aft, you saw the raging party in the back: expertly frizzed to max. volume and cemented in place with salon-quality spray, it appeared to reflect the light as it gently swayed in the morning ambiance of the terminal. It was not unlike a Mini-Wheat with it's two diverse sides. Time to rock! :P

I was so excited I let out a little yelp and let go with a rockstar-like kick. I looked more than a little like Vince Neil himself. 8)

Whoops—the Jazz girl was speaking. “Sir, you have been upgraded. Please just hand this to the flight attendant, and she’ll show you to your seat.”

Upgraded! The words hung in my ears, and I walked away from the counter with a massive grin lighting up my features. :D Down below, the polyester dress pants made an authoritative zip-zop, zip-zop as I walked.

My mind was racing! The elusive upgrade—all these years of begging, threatening, bribing and stalking chief pilots in pursuit of the mighty left seat, and finally—here it was! I must have done better in that interview than I thought—to hell with the sim, they were giving me my dream shot right off the bat! :shock: Maybe the jet-like sound effects I had made as I illustrated my takeoff technique with “The Man’s” pencil had paid off? I walked to the window and looked out at the RJ sitting at the gate. The rose in my lapel bobbed and turned to face the sun. The mullet glowed. From behind, I must have looked like a sunflower!

The RJ was certainly no 182, but I didn’t think it would be too much of a problem. A little trim here, a bit of power there….I practiced rotating and turning the massive control wheel a bit. Visualization has always worked wonders for me, chaps. Around me, some pax gaped in awe. :wink:

Well—time to meet the good people. I started introducing myself to the rabble seated in the waiting room. A good Captain should always strive to get to know his passengers, gents. Just think: only 5 minutes ago I was down at their level! Poor bastards!

Toronto, 3 hours later after some heated questions from the authorities...

Sulking, I disembarked the Jazzy Jet and sauntered downstairs. The whole upgrade thing had been a bit embarrassing, and I now regretted getting physical with the FO as I thought I had just been acting within my PIC authority. Oh well, the RCMP had thought it was pretty funny, so I was in the clear. How was I supposed to know ‘upgrade’ meant ‘business class?’ The big leagues sure had some funny expressions. Pretty out of touch with the working class pilot if you ask me. :oops:

The CAE facility was a pretty classy joint, and I told the sim eval guy how impressed I was. All the apples and cookies you can stuff in your pockets—for free, folks—and they keep the coffee coming. I was escorted to the briefing room, and sat down for a little chat. The sim eval guy was named Tim, and he didn’t look that impressive. I thought an airline pilot close up would be, I don’t know—bigger, or something. Anyway, Timbit (the nickname I gave him) filled me in on what we were going to do. “Just fly like you always do, Henri”, he said. I squinted at him and moved the toothpick from East to West as it danced on my lower lip. “Roger THAT!” I confirmed. He didn’t know it yet, but this was Timbit’s lucky day. He was going to learn a thing or two. :wink:

The Dash 8 sim was massive. Buttons, switches, lights and levers stretched out in every direction as I eased my polyester posterior into the left seat and ratcheted myself to the full forward position. (clickity-clickity). Timbit tried to point out some key features, but I waved him away. Point one, chaps: accepting help is a sign of weakness. Do it on your own, and reap the rewards.
I found the throttles, but couldn’t see the mixtures anywhere. Oh well, we weren’t going that high anyway. Power, yoke and rudder—what else do you need? I was ready. First of all though, it was time for a quick P.A. for the good people. Lesson 2: Keep the pax comfortable, chaps. They pay your salary, after all. In addition to Timmy the Right Seat Warmer, there were two chuckleheads in the back, so I welcomed them aboard and gave them the speech. The message here, folks? Sound like an airline pilot, become an airline pilot.

That little chore out of the way, I popped the park brake off, slammed the power home and told Timbit to hang on. We were on our way! :D

The Dash 8 leapt into the air easily around 145, and I cranked her skyward. Timmy clutched his chair and looked back at Chucklehead A as I rolled her into a 60 degree left turn to comply with the SID. The cinnamon gum snapped with authority as I rolled, climbed and dove to meet the demands of the clearances. I hung a hand casually over the yoke and roared mightily with laughter as I recalled the RJ incident—it made great cockpit conversation, and finally these boys were able to see me in my natural element. A good Captain must set the tone of the flight deck, boys. I could see the chuckleheads relax, as they looked at each other and laughed. Chucklehead B wrote something down on a clipboard—probably a good yarn for later—that’s the spirit, buddy! :P

All four of us were getting along like a house on fire as the virtual-Dash 8 snaprolled her way through the airwork…she was on rails as I coaxed her left and right. 45 degrees just isn’t enough to get the job done, boys—I chose to raise the bar a bit and put her on the ol’ knife-edge. Sure you drop a couple hundred feet, but the message is clear: this boy is not afraid of a little challenge. 8)

Chucklehead A tried to trap me into taking a hold after the turns, but I knew better: this was a sim ride, boys…a test! Deny that hold. You don’t need it. Declare an emergency. Sure you gotta think fast; I came up with a story for ATC that Timbit was having a medical problem—and sure enough that hold went away! This type of major-league thinking is what separates the men from the girls. Chuckles told me to turn to a heading of 270. Vectors! Damn, these guys are full of little intimidation tactics! Stay on those headings, fellas, and hang on to that yoke with an iron grip. Transfer control to the SIC if it gets too tough—you might need your strength for later.

This ride was way too tame for someone with my experience and abilities, but I felt bad for the guys conducting it, and just decided to play along. My mind did wander though, and I found myself thinking back to that crazy show I saw last week at the local airport ripper club, the Purple Peeper. Man, that chick came out with that incredible light show, she was dressed as a cheerleader, the music was bumpin’ and those flashing lights…man……wait…what the hell is that flashing light doing here?

Engine Fire!” Timmy was freaking out. Lights were going off everywhere, and the Dash 8 was swerving all over the sky. I slapped him hard across the face, and clenched the toothpick tightly between my teeth. He was no use to me now. Looking up, I saw the red handle. Man, these turbines were so user-friendly! Not like the 182, with its wordy checklists. Reaching up, I yanked the handle down screaming “it’s gonna be okay, Timmy!”. The light went out. Problem solved! :)

But all was not well in the front office of the Dash 8, chaps. :? Timbit had dropped the ball—the brown part of the AI was on top, and the last time I checked we weren’t in Russia. We were in grave artificial danger. I calmly flicked on the seatbelt sign, picked up the interphone and cancelled my coffee order with the virtual flight attendant.

It was a bit of a blur after that, chaps, but that's flying for you. :o Mr. Stitches and I are confident though: I've already started packing up his cat toys and litterbox for the big move.

Good thing %#@* U-Haul is on the speed dial! :roll:

Stay real, boys!

Henri
8)
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