Hurry Up and Wait, Part Deux
Well, today was "Draw the Last of the Flight Gear" Day. While popping a pair of new boots, two sand-colored T-shirts, a set of gloves, et cetera into a shopping cart that had never seen actual sunlight, a late-twentysomething A-10 driver eyed my lanky, grey-haired carcass and fished, "Going to the Sandbox?"
"Ummmm -- the periphery of one of 'em, yeah."
"Hauling people or cargo? Or both?"
Heh. Time to play the "My Ops Are Blacker Than Your Ops" game.
"Neither. Gunships."
*eyes opening wider* "Whoa! You're flying Spectre?"
"Nope. Cobras. Goggle stuff."
"Cobras? *Helicopters*?"
"Yeah. I like to get close enough to see the look on their faces."
*blink* "Uhhhhh."
*grin*
New kids. I love it when they go speechless...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
However, karma must equalize, so my payback was that the Cobra I was supposed to fly for recurrent training isn't flyable anymore. Got feelers out to the usual places (there actually *are* a couple of de-mil'ed Cobras with civil registrations out there), but in the meantime, my employer decided -- and rightly so -- that
1. it would be a waste of funds to keep me cooped in a motel here in the scenic South and
2. my scrounging talents would be better utilized at the personal level, rather than electronically.
Yup. I have a mission (and contacts) to obtain some unobtainables. Still working the telecommuting details, but tomorrow this afternoon, I launch into the Danger Zone.
New Jersey.
And KtLW's honeydew list.
I'd almost rather be getting shot at...
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