I told you a while ago that I was coming north to renew my pilot proficiency check. It doesn't matter which city it's in, as we can fly the airplane there. The chief pilot called around to find an examiner, and then called me to tell me when and where. And who.
Oh, um, rats. I should have seen this coming. I'll bet long time readers did. I know that name. He works for my former employer, Victory Airways. I did a flight test with him at that company, and the title of the blog written at the end of that day was Worst. Ride. Ever. I remember thinking, "Well, I don't want to be at this company in two years, when my renewal comes due." In fact one of the silver linings in the cloud that carried me out of what passed for a town there was that I wouldn't have to get back in an airplane with that examiner again.
Ah, Aviatrix. You forget that wherever you go, there you are. I am the protagonist in my own story, and whatever is dramatically appropriate is pretty much guaranteed to happen. Which is good news, really, because this is the sort of story that should eventually have an inspirationally happy ending.
I wonder if he'll even remember me. Probably he will, as the candidate before me managed to almost sever his finger closing the aircraft door, and the examiner had to drive him to emergency. Heh. There must have been a bad alignment of the planets that day as far as pilots were concerned.
I square my shoulders, laugh at the deviousness of the universe and tell myself what a fantastic opportunity I have been given to redeem myself. I look forward to astonishing him with my prowess.
(Ok, more truthfully, I cower in fear for a while, and think about how a brave, heroic protagonist ought to respond to this situation, and then try to pass that off in my blog as my real response).