...although you were probably unaware of it, since my ISP kept spitting me offline the last time I was here
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before I was quick enough to
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preserve the news.
Well, Kate the LudditeWife finally dozed off and stopped hollering "Get off that %$#@! computer and get a job! I don't care *where* you go -- just find a job!" for reasons which I will reveal after keeping both of you reading this on tenterhooks for the nonce.
Daytime (starting around 3:45am, when Gaby, the Scruple-In-Training, awakens and starts squawking for company) has been the usual round of roofing lake houses, replacing garage windows, knocking down wooden greenhouses and erecting metal ones, repairing leaks in koi ponds (never realized there were so *many* of them in the area), creating serene vistas out of knotweed / grapevine / poison ivy-filled back yards and hitting Job Fairs. Nighttime has been the usual round of filling out apps on company Job Boards and checking my spam traps search bots, who insist that being a tractor mechanic in Fargo is right up my alley. In March, I figured I'd better brush up on my 'lectrical skills (just in case) and rewired my old flight helmet...
*sigh*
I'm not closing in on King William of Redmond in the earnings department, but at least I'll never need to buy another pen (Job Fair participants in Crystal City pass out logo'd pens and mini-mag flashlights -- those in New Brunswick give you gallon-sized plastic tote bags. Just in case you were curious).
Long time back, AFSis passed me the cheery message that jobs for the walking dead guys of my -- ummmmm -- experience level were few and far between. "Few and far" about describes it. I only know of three other guys who were in my line of work (Cobra 'Structor Pilot / Safety Geek) who didn't bolt for Apaches or Black Hawks when the Green Machine dumped the AH-1F and they're flying desks for OSACOM, the Army's airline.
Which brings me to the reason KtLW is now sound asleep instead if hovering over my shoulder offering job-search tips such as, "That application is incomplete. You need to fill in *all* the blank spaces, even the ones marked 'Females Only' -- trust me, I *know* what they look for..." and "Be sure to tell them that your flashbacks aren't anywhere near as violent as they used to be."
Last Thursday, I got a phone call.
"Hello, I'm [program manager's name and defense contractor's ID withheld just to make John nuts] and I understand you were a Cobra Instructor Pilot? And you have NVG gunnery experience? And you have a current passport?"
"Yes to all three."
"Would flying Cobras in [someplace not in the western hemisphere] sound like something that you'd be interested in?"
Oh, man -- throw me right into that briar patch, Bre'r Fox!
Inbound e-mails with attachments arrived, followed rapidly by outbound e-mails with attachments. Long story short, as long as I don't die before I take a Flight Physical, I'll be indoctrinated, innoculated and enroute to being a Castle Correspondent before the end of June. The gig runs until September, with the chance that the contract will be extended.
Somehow, I just *knew* there was a reason I rewired the ol' SPH-4...
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