Sweet words after two months of training for a type rating in the MD-11. 215 tons of airplane controlled by my left hand...typing commands into the Multifunction Control Display Unit. Of course, if two engines decide to explode shortly after takeoff there's a little hand flying involved but hey, whatever it takes.

So... it's off to IOE--Initial Operating Experience--flying revenue trips with a check airman watching me trying my best not to kill both of us and giving me official blessing to "fly the line," i.e., be a regular crew member along with the rest of the anointed.

Got some pretty important guidance from the evaluator after the check, too.

"OK, once I input into the system the fact that you passed the check, go to the website and order your catering for the Hawaii trip."

"Say what?" (I knew my first ride was to Honolulu but this subtle nuance escaped me up to that time.)

"You know, what you want to eat on the flight."

"Uhh, OK."

New bean logs on to the pilot website...

Ah, there's a hot link to "International Catering"...lessee what pops up...

Two (not one, two) meals listed: Hot dinner; Hot breakfast. Choices...the stuffed halibut looks nice...or do I want barbecue? Salad choices, beverage choices, a list two pages long.

Gawd. I knew I bid this jet for a reason. That and the pay raise, a'course.

Knuckle-draggin' Hawg driver dies and goes to heaven--nice food, nice destinations, nice hotels, flying airplanes--JUST flying airplanes, no OERs to write, no dumb-ass projects to do, no all-nighters to pull. Show up, fly, leave.

The flying is as much computer management as it is stick and rudder because flying a behemoth is taxing when you do it for an hour, much less eight, and it's more fuel-efficient if you let Betty do most of the mundane maneuvering. Besides, this jet was designed for passenger comfort. God forbid the martinis are spilled in First Class 'cause an engine quit, so the autopilot and flight director systems are pretty cosmic.

Granted, these carry boxes but why rip out all the cool automation? OK, fine. We all gotta make sacrifices.

Me? I'll hand fly it on depature and approach as much as they'll let me but it's nice to know that, launching out of London in weather that makes it difficult to find your hand at the end of your arm, you can hit that "Autoflight" tile (yeah, "tile," not "button"--whatever) and Betty nails all the headings, altitudes and airspeeds while you sit back and just, well, watch.

Anyway, I ain't done yet...two more trips culminating in a line check, but it sure beats sitting in a cubicle staring at the ceiling.

Would I trade it for a Hog assignment? If the nation called, I would go without hesitation.

But there is life after the speed jeans (G-suit) are hung on the peg for the last time and trust me when I say I don't feel guilty enjoying the new lifestyle.