A Little Tension Breaker: Airline Humor

[We've all seen these kind of things before, but as a former AF airplane driver myself, have to say this was the funniest such collection I've ever seen. Hope y'all enjoy these as much as we did here.]

Here are some conversations that airline passengers normally will never hear. The following are accounts of actual exchanges between airline pilots and control towers around the world.

Tower: "Delta 351, you have traffic at 10 o'clock, 6 miles!"
Delta 351: "Give us another hint! We have digital watches!"

"TWA 2341, for noise abatement turn right 45 Degrees."
"Centre, we are at 35,000 feet. How much noise can we make up here?"
"Sir, have you ever heard the noise a 747 makes when it hits a 727?"

From an unknown aircraft waiting in a very long takeoff queue: "I'm f...ing bored!"
Ground Traffic Control: "Last aircraft transmitting, identify yourself immediately!"
Unknown aircraft: "I said I was f...ing bored, not f...ing stupid!"

O'Hare Approach Control to a 747: "United 329 heavy, your traffic is a Fokker, one o'clock, three miles, Eastbound."
United 239: "Approach, I've always wanted to say this... I've got the little Fokker in sight."

A student became lost during a solo cross-country flight. While attempting to locate the aircraft on radar, ATC asked, "What was your last known position?"
Student: "When I was number one for takeoff."

A DC-10 had come in a little hot and thus had an exceedingly long roll out after touching down. San Jose Tower Noted: "American 751, make a hard right turn at the end of the runway, if you are able. If you are not able, take the Guadalupe exit off Highway 101, make a right at the lights and return to the airport."

There's a story about the military pilot calling for a priority landing because his single-engine jet fighter was running "a bit peaked." Air Traffic Control told the fighter jock that he was number two, behind a B-52 that had one engine shut down.
"Ah," the fighter pilot remarked, "The dreaded seven-engine approach."

Taxiing down the tarmac, a DC-10 abruptly stopped, turned around and returned to the gate. After an hour-long wait, it finally took off. A concerned passenger asked the flight attendant, "What, exactly, was the problem?"
"The pilot was bothered by a noise he heard in the engine," explained the flight attendant. "It took us a while to find a new pilot."

A Pan Am 727 flight waiting for start clearance in Munich overheard the following: Lufthansa (in German): "Ground, what is our start clearance time?"
Ground (in English): "If you want an answer you must speak in English."
Lufthansa (in English): "I am a German, flying a German airplane, in Germany. Why must I speak English?"
Unknown voice from another plane (in a beautiful British accent): "Because you lost the bloody war."

Tower: "Eastern 702, cleared for takeoff, contact Departure on frequency 124.7"
Eastern 702: "Tower, Eastern 702 switching to Departure. By the way, after we lifted off we saw some kind of dead animal on the far end of the runway."
Tower: "Continental 635, cleared for takeoff behind Eastern 702, contact Departure on frequency 124.7. Did you copy that report from Eastern 702?"
Continental 635: "Continental 635, cleared for takeoff, roger; and yes, we copied Eastern... we've already notified our caterers."

One day the pilot of a Cherokee 180 was told by the tower to hold short of the active runway while a DC-8 landed. The DC-8 landed, rolled out, turned around, and taxied back past the Cherokee. Some quick-witted comedian in the DC-8 crew got on the radio and said, "What a cute little plane. Did you make it all by yourself?"
The Cherokee pilot, not about to let the insult go by, came back with a real zinger: "I made it out of DC-8 parts. Another landing like yours and I'll have enough parts for another one."

The German air controllers at Frankfurt Airport are renowned as a short-tempered lot. They not only expect one to know one's gate parking location, but how to get there without any assistance from them. So it was with some amusement that we (a Pan Am 747) listened to the following exchange between Frankfurt ground control and a British Airways 747, call sign Speedbird 206.
Speedbird 206: "Frankfurt, Speedbird 206 clear of active runway."
Ground: "Speedbird 206. Taxi to gate Alpha One-Seven."
The BA 747 pulled onto the main taxiway and slowed to a stop.
Ground: "Speedbird, do you not know where you are going?"
Speedbird 206: "Stand by, Ground, I'm looking up our gate location now."
Ground (with quite arrogant impatience): "Speedbird 206, have you not been to Frankfurt before?"
Speedbird 206 (coolly): "Yes, twice in 1944, but it was dark, -- and I didn't land."

While taxiing at London's Gatwick Airport, the crew of a US Air flight departing for Ft. Lauderdale made a wrong turn and came nose to nose with a United 727. An irate female ground controller lashed out at the US Air crew, screaming: "US Air 2771, where the hell are you going?! I told you to turn right onto Charlie taxiway! You turned right on Delta! Stop right there. I know it's difficult for you to tell the difference between C and D, but get it right!"

Continuing her rage to the embarrassed crew, she was now shouting hysterically: "God! Now you've screwed everything up! It'll take forever to sort this out! You stay right there and don't move till I tell you to! You can expect progressive taxi instructions in about half an hour and I want you to go exactly where I tell you, when I tell you, and how I tell you! You got that, US Air 2771?"

Naturally, the ground control communications frequency fell terribly silent after the verbal bashing of US Air 2771. Nobody wanted to chance engaging the irate ground controller in her current state of mind. Tension in every cockpit out around Gatwick was definitely running high. Just then an unknown pilot broke the silence and keyed his microphone, asking:

I was on a Northwest flight, during a work slowdown, when all their employees were being as snotty as possible, and the flight was delayed due to them "discovering" imaginary problems with the plane (i.e., a door in the pantry needed to be replaced, and they had to find someone to replace it, then they needed to find a replacement for him to replace, then it had the wrong size/shape window in the door, so they had to find another). It was BS-city, and everyone knew it. One passenger barked out at them that it was all BS because of their work slowdown, and a couple of NW-flunkies stopped yacking with each other, turned to the passenger, smirked, and walked off.

They were so busy with that imaginary crap that they didn't have the time to notice the real problem. So, after we finally take off, and make it to our (intermediate) destination, the pilot announces that we'll be landing in a few minutes and we're going to go into final approach.

He then banked, fairly hard, and spent the next half hour or so flying in a circle. WTF??? Not a word from the cockpit during this time.

A while later, he comes on the PA and announces that there's a bit of a problem. The right wing's slat is stuck. He then says they think they've got it taken care of, and he hopes we'll be landing soon.

The "hopes" pertained to the word "landing", not the word "soon".

So, he comes in to the runway -- at flying speed. We must have been doing 300MPH+ when the wheels touched the pavement. He immediately threw on the reverse thrusters and maxed them out. The plane did not seem to be slowing down. I looked out the window and stuff was flying past us at an incredible rate of speed. I'd never traveled that fast on the ground before (and never want to again).

The plane gradually slowed down, but it took the entire length of the runway, with the reverse thrusters screaming the whole time.

At the end of the runway, he made a sharp left, and we saw two rows of firetrucks sitting there with their lights flashing. Smilin' Jack gets back on the PA and tells us not to pay any attention to the firetrucks, he told them that we didn't need them, but they wanted to have a drill anyway.

Yeah, right.

What happened, as best as I can figure out, is that the "taken care of" he mentioned before descending wasn't that they'd freed up the right slat, but instead, they seem to have come in with both slats retracted, and I think no-flaps too -- after spending forever and a half flying in a circle to burn off excess fuel, "just in case."

They didn't let anyone get out to kiss the ground, either. They held us hostage on the plane, not telling us a damn thing, and then, after about 45 minutes or so, announced that anyone who wanted to go try to rent a car to drive the rest of their way to their destinations had permission to do so, but be advised that the car rental counters had closed about five minutes ago (by now it was late at night, and to put it into perspective, it was late afternoon, broad daylight when we were supposed to land).

Some time around one in the morning, they announced that the slat had been repaired and that we'd be taking off for the final leg of the destination. It was white-knuckle city for the rest of that flight -- especially the landing. My wife's fingernails are still embedded in my hand (that's the only exaggeration in this story).

I always hated flying Republic -- they had the nastiest, most arrogant, rude employees I'd ever seen. That is, until Northwest took 'em over.

I can think of exactly one NW employee I've encountered that wasn't a complete and utter [insert_epithet_of_choice] -- and that was a stew who seemed to have it in for the gate-b!tc# who'd tried her damndest to screw me over out of sheer spite (during another work slowdown!) She tried to force me -- at the boarding gate! to put a bag full of collectible cameras -- unpadded, unlocked, soft-side case jam-packed with them -- she tried to force me to put it into the luggage compartment "because there's no room for it". This was total BS. She only "discovered" that there was "no room" when she discovered that it was full of valuable delicate photographic equipment that was in now way packed for handling by the baggage apes.

I got nowhere with this piece of work in heels, and resolved myself to losing my cameras, or, having them destroyed. She ordered me to walk it down to the door (of the plane) and leave it there for baggage to pick up. I was furious, but there wasn't a damn thing I could do, except get myself tossed off the plane, and/or arrested if I made a stink about it. And, the btch knew it. Like I said, it was pure spite, during a "work slowdown".

Anyway, I get to the plane, and the stew wants to know why the cameras should go into the hold, because there's plenty of room on the HALF-EMPTY airplane (a huge wide-body job on a short hop).

Just then, the gate-btch starts yapping at her -- turns out she'd followed me all the way down to the plane, to make sure I obeyed her! UFB-city! Sheesh!

The stew smiles at her, and then looks at me and says "there's plenty of room, no problem, take it with you."

The gate-btch goes berserk, and starts foaming at the mouth, barking at the stew about how she f'n ordered me to put it in baggage. The stew keeps her cool, keeps smiling, and tells the gate/b that there's no problem, and leaves her sputtering outside the door.

I got the impression it wasn't the first encounter they'd had -- and I wouldn't be surprised if the stew would have treated me quite a bit differently if not for whatever was going on in that particular situation. That may sound cynical, but hey, from everything I've experienced with that airline, treating the customers like $#!+ seems to be an ingrained part of the corporate culture. (These are far from the only horror stories I have personally experienced with those SOBs.)

Now, the icing on the cake -- this was in the pre-9/11 environment. NWIH will I get on any airline in the present madness, and NWIH will I ever fly Northwest again, period. I'd rather travel cross-country on bloody stumps via pogo stick than put my blood pressure in those bastards' hands again.

The most infuriating aspect to it all is the realization that no matter how many customers they drive away -- no matter how many people choose to drive -- or to stay home -- rather than fly NW -- they will never go bankrupt, because the gov't will take my taxes and use it to bail them out, should it come to that.

For better or worse (i.e., "worse"), we've essentially got socialized air transport in this country. The airlines are not subject to market realities; they are immune to things that would put any other business out of business -- and they know it.

Fortunately (so to speak), my health has deteriorated to the point that I can't travel anyway, so it's moot for me, except for the fond memories (/sarcasm) and the realization that no matter how bad the airlines make it for themselves, I'll still be there to have my wallet squeezed by the IRS to help keep them flying.

/end_rant! :)

1994:
On a F-15E Strike Eagle cross-country flight one weekend, stopped for fuel at the St Louis Guard (St Louis Airport). Gear problem on take-off—would not raise, which, all things considered, is better than it not coming down.
Anyway, flew around dumped gas over St Louis and landed.
Taxied to McDonnell-Douglas for repairs. They built that darned thing, after all.
Next day, as I was conducting walk-around pre-flight inspection and WSO was in FBO filing flight plan, MGM grand 737 pulled up and Garth Brooks gets off the jet.
He sends his advance man over to us to ask if Garth can take a look in the jet.
“Of course” I reply, and I get the canopy bracer tool out of the travel pod. (This tool is used as a back-up to prevent the canopy from dropping down and cutting you in half. Wouldn’t do for an Air Force jet to chop Garth in half.)
Unfortunately, Garth is whisked away by hundreds of other advance men and he doesn't get a chance to sit in the seat of the Cadillac jet.
Fine, I remove the canopy bracer tool and place it back in the travel pod under the jet (looks like a napalm canister.)
I do not have the tool to secure the door, but my thumbnail works to get one srew set and holds the door closed.
Anyway, I get in the jet and soon the WSO walks up. He disappears under the jet (I think he is securing the travel pod. He has the tool. I was wrong.)
He gets in the jet, we fire it up, taxi for take-off and I get clearance for unrestricted climb to 27,000’. Sweet.
Full AB on take-off roll, suck the gear up at 6 inches from the ground, keeping the jet on the deck, going through 400 knots by end of runway and WHAM. . .I pull the stick back into my lap, 7 G’s as I point the jet vertical and zoom for the moon.
What a cool airshow departure for the civilian’s at the airport.
Cool, except that when I yanked back the stick, the travel pod door popped open and all our clothes came out. . .shoes, jeans, shirts, dirty underwear, the works.
We didn’t know it had happened until ATC Center called and said, “Strike 11, St Louis Tower called and is asking if you want medium starch on your shirts.”
Doh!!
Needless to say, my squadron commander (“Dirtball”—and he was one too), was not pleased.

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