Training Days

Of all the Rat's nest, this is horrible things about life, few can stand up to the excruciating monotony of searching for a job. The agonizing periods of waiting, the endless recording of information minutae, and especially the rejection letters-of-doom all add up to some fairly undesirable feelings. More than a few people can relate, especially given the economy. As I neared the flight school finish line, more than anything else I dreaded the long days of trolling the internet for possible job openings and submitting resumes to unnamed human resource personnel in far off places I never dreamed I'd consider living. Fortunately, for all parties involved, I didn't have to wait or search long: while spending the afternoon after my final checkride cleaning the apartment and packing my car, I received an email from the HR department of my flight school, wanting to know if I'd be available for a phone interview later that afternoon. I cleared my schedule (read: there was nothing to be cleared) and prepared myself for what she might ask. The interview came and went, and a few hours later, I had been offered a job as a flight instructor, and I'd be headed back one of my least favorite U.S. cities: Jacksonville, FL.

My disdain for Jax runs deep, stemming from an encounter with a disgruntled taxicab driver back in October and continuing on with my epic two week CFI school imprisonment shortly before Christmas. Throw in the fact that it's one of the most sprawling cities around (count on thirty minutes of driving to get anywhere), obscenely high crime rates, and an overwhelming surplus of overpriced Publix grocery stores and one might begin to form an idea of why even Cleveland ranks higher on USA Today's "Top 10 Most Desirable Getaways" List. I made that last part up. But, still.

Some decisions are hard in life, like determining which breakfast cereal to eat, or whether or not Ben Affleck wears a tupee. Accepting this job wasn't one of them. In aviation, a sure-fire offer on the table always trumps what could be out there. I originally had grand visions of working as a bush pilot up in Alaska, or spending a few years overseas as a missionary pilot. And perhaps someday those plans will still come to fruition. But with a concrete offer on the table, I elected to go with the sure thing. For now, I'm thrilled to be working for the flight school I attended, and even more fortunate to be receiving a paycheck FOR FLYING AIRPLANES. Six months ago, when I first enrolled, completing school on time and exiting with a job offer in hand would have been the absolute most desirable outcome. I like how things turned out, even if I'm in Jacksonville, although it's not entirely awful living three miles from the ocean on 70 degree January days. Somebody has to do it-might as well be me.

It's not been easy. Compressing the amount of information I just learned into a 5 month, 150 Day program was intense, but the company's standardization training has obliterated anything I've ever encountered. It's like brushing your teeth at the bottom of Niagara Falls-just a catastrophic amount of excess pressure everywhere you turn. The demands placed upon me as a salaried pilot are taking their toll. Each day has been chock full of training sessions, simulator prep work, and a ridiculous amount of hours spent in the company business center, where we counsel prospective students on the perils of enrolling in our school. Before we are unleashed to one of the company's 25 nationwide locations, however, we must pass five thorough simulator evalation sessions and two flights with the Chief Instructor. It is here where I ran into my first major obstacle.

Flying in any simulator is the classic double edge sword illustration. You're performing the same checklists, announcing the same callouts, and configuring the device as you would in the air. The value of spending time in a simulator is definitely tangible. However, most sims are often labeled as being squirrelly, or difficult to fly. The obvious difference is that, in the air, you're able to 'feel' the aircraft as changes are made, and compensate accordingly. The reality is, there's simply no substitute for the real thing. Now, I'd succeeded in the sim before, but in my first attempt to pass the evaluation sessions, I crumbled under the pressure and received an unsatisfactory rating. Failing the sim session meant I lost my instructor seniority and was moved to the back of the line. I watched as the four people I was hired with plowed through their sim blocks with the ease of someone loading up their plate at Old Country Buffet. For two weeks I languished in uncertainty, wondering when I'd get another chance. In the meantime, I began pulling even longer days, spending two or three hours in the morning running through procedures and operations and another few hours at night flying in the simulator. Soon, I'd pushed myself to exhaustion and had to take a step back.

No disrespect to anyone who may have, at one point, ran an illegal dogfigthing operation, but these really have been the dog days of my fledgling pilot career. Moments of doubt, mixed with frustration and impatience, are the defining elements of my new struggle. I knew climbing the ladder would be tough, but until you're a few rungs up, you really don't know how far it is to go. Like I used to lament back in my private pilot days, it seems as though everyone is a better, safer, and more experienced pilot than I. And it's true: they are.

I remember thinking, back a few months ago, that when I finished flight school, that THEN I would celebrate and enjoy my hard work. I would lay around, basking in the glow of being done. I would be lazy. Sleep in. I would get fat. These were the things I looked forward to. I distincly recall telling myself to feel proud of what I'd accomplished, that I'd finally 'made it'. Nothing could be farther from the truth. The reality is I am a rookie, that I really don't know too much about anything, and this is the part of my life where I take my lumps, early and often. Responsibility has increased tenfold-I'm no longer the trainee-and it's all on my shoulders. The company has a saying, "If you see it, you're responsible." These days I'm seeing everything. There's no time to be lazy, and get fat, because I've got a flying career now. I am responsible. It is an incredibly sobering thought, that I know just enough to legally teach someone how to fly, and not much else. It's enough to keep me dilligent in my studies, and more than enough to motivate me towards give my everything to the students I'll be teaching.

Fast forward to a few days ago. With all that extra practice time built in, I breezed through the final few simulator evalutations, passed my initial recommendation flight, and now am readying myself for one final flight. Then, I'll wait, for my name to be called, for the final word on where I'll begin my flying career. Early word from HR is that I'll be headed to Indianapolis, or possibly Atlanta. Like an NBA Draft prospect awaiting his fate, I'll be anxious to find out where my Silver Tauras will deliver me next. I only know one thing: it will be someplace other than Jacksonville.