News for my non-airline friends: I have since changed aircraft from the EMB 145 to the ERJ 170/175. What that means to the layperson is that while I am still working for the same regional airline, I am flying a plane that is a little bit bigger than the one before it. Also, its engines are mounted just under the wings, AND it has winglets (those flippy things at the end of the wingtips, for the aviation-speak-impaired).... which makes it totally sexy. Also, most people can stand straight up as they board and find their way to their seats. In the previous airplane, people taller than 5' were forced into an uncomfortable "C" position as they shuffled to the back. Not a problem for yours truly!
So. Let's not talk about almost dying in Boston. Let's talk about life. Let's talk about something absolutely meaningless that means a lot to me.
I've always dreamed of owning a convertible. When I was a teenager, I was very much into the 50's and 60's music - and pretty much everything about that era fascinated me. Honestly, I think I was born in the wrong time. I wanted a 1964 and 1/2 mustang convertible for as long as I can remember. To me, nothing embodied the American spirit as much as that car!
Fast forward to the early 2000's, when I was a flight instructor. One day, I decided to visit a dealership in North Little Rock. I'd driven by and ogled the mustangs for a while, but only now did I have the courage to drive my old Saturn in and ask to test drive one of their mustangs - particularly the red one with the top already pulled back. I had gussied myself up in my sharpest Wal-Mart attire in an attempt to fool the salesman and make myself look rich.
This mustang was fire-engine red. It was a GT convertible, and it was new! The salesman was in his 40's, with a goatee and a flirty manner - absolutely my specialty! I sat down in the driver's seat and felt like I was home. I breathed in the new car smell and ran my finger across the Mustang emblem on the steering wheel. I didn't notice he'd left me until he plopped down into the passenger seat and handed me the key.
I fired it up. I pressed the gas pedal and smiled as the engine purred a little louder. We pealed outta that lot like we had just robbed a liquor store! Before I knew it, my right hand had found the oldies station just in time to hear the opening guitar licks of "Magic Carpet Ride," by Steppenwolf. I opened up the gas on a relatively empty stretch of highway (got up to a whopping 60 mph!!). The salesman and I did a little headbang as we sang the lyrics to "Magic Carpet Ride." The top was down, the sun was in our faces, and the wind in our hair made it feel like we were the only people on the planet. All too soon, we were back at the dealership, laughing like we were just wasting another summer day.
I knew I wasn't going to buy that car, and I felt a twinge of guilt when I handed the key back to the salesman and tried to make my way back to my Saturn. Somehow, I found myself inside his office, getting my credit checked. Not too much later, there was good news and bad news. The good news - my credit was excellent! Bad news - there wasn't that much of a history. Worse news - somehow the manager came around, and we got to talking about how much money I actually brought home.
The manager was furious. I stood my ground, looked him straight in the eye, and said matter of factly, "I'm a flight instructor. I made $500 last month!" It was a good month; that's more than I'd ever brought home before!
"Then your monthly payment would be your ENTIRE PAYCHECK!!" he exclaimed. "GET THE HELL OFF OF MY LOT!!"
I left there without a mustang, but I had stolen a memory to be savored and fodder for my dreams.
Years went by. Often, I dreamed about what it would feel like like to own that car - a summer's day, blasting music, waving to all the truckers, headed to an airline job I loved - only to wake up disappointed that I was stuck in the same place, with the same job and the same paycheck, living with the same man and in the same toxic relationship. My dream got me through the hardest times as a starving flight instructor when it seemed like I was never going to further my career. I could have purchased one when I left flight instruction and became a freight dawg, but I knew that before the loan ran its course, I'd take a pretty hefty paycut if I wanted to be an airline pilot. So, I continued to drive it only in my dreams.
A year after I upgraded to captain at my current airline gig, my dreams came true when I bought a 2011 Mustang GT convertible. It is Kona Blue, with a gray racing stripe down the center. Why yes, it does have a V8, 5.0 L "Coyote" engine, with over 400 horses at my command. I love the way how, when I step a little too aggressively on the gas pedal, the tires chirp, the seat belt tightens, and my back is pressed into the seat - almost like I'm being caressed. The engine begins with a roar and only gets louder, and I can feel the front end of the car lift ever so slightly as the rear tires dig in to the pavement and all of the engine instrument needles make their way clockwise. The technology in the sound system tries in vain to compensate for the noise by increasing the volume of the radio as the car accelerates. However, it's no match for the true music of that glorious engine!
Dear God!! Is anyone else horny?!?
As awesome as the car is with the top up, pulling the top down takes that awesome to an infinite power. Every song on the radio just sounds better. The problems of the day blow away when I'm barreling down the interstate, wind blown and bathed in sunlight. The currents of the warm air remind me of floating in the ocean. After a while, I notice my face hurts because I've been smiling for so long. Sometimes, I even forget to breathe. Let's face it, I'm no beauty queen. However, when that top is back, I suddenly get honks and waves, which are returned with a big smile. It is absolutely impossible to be in a pissy mood when I'm driving my mustang "topless!"
Sadly, I know that with the official arrival of Autumn, my topless days will become sparse until the top is up for good this winter. The trees are already changing, and baseball is giving way to football as the nation's pastime. The days are getting shorter, and my sun-sweetened home grown tomatoes are looking smaller and sadder. "Pumpkin Spice" is everywhere, and my friends are all excited about cooler weather. Because I tend to get those seasonal blues in the winter time, I feel like I'm hanging on to each day of summer the way I used to hang on to my father's leg when I was a child, crying and begging him not to go to work.
But today is "go-home day" (my Friday, for those not in the airline biz). The high in Kansas City is supposed to be in the low 80's - perfect "top-down" weather. Yes, I used to dream about how wonderful life would be when I could drive my mustang convertible to a job I loved, and I was right. It is wonderful. But I was wrong, too. The BEST part of life is driving that mustang convertible home.
I'm coming home topless, Sweet Cheeks!
