Landings, with all they imply, are a welcome part of any flight. It means the screaming baby in 11B will soon be a thing of the past, you'll be able to take your iPhone off airplane mode and, provided you don't clobber someone taking your carry-on out of the overhead, you'll never have to see, make small talk or apologize to any of these people again.
What I've noticed a lot, especially in the age of discount airlines, is that when landing, a lot of times pilots simply come in hot. They have schedules to make, flight attendants to diddle (make sure they're fastened low and tight across your waist) or another plane to pilot. They're in a hurry to touchdown.
We've all been on that flight where you feel your bones rattle when the plane slams onto the runway, and then a flight attendant blows the dust off some old joke over the P.A. like, "As you may have noticed, we've just dropped into Kennedy."
Rare is a pilot who manages to stick the landing. I was fortunate enough to have one on my flight this morning.
It's family weekend at young Mr. Spielberg's university. So the wife and I hopped JetBlue to the red state to see our boy. When we touched down, it was barely noticeable if you weren't looking out the window and watching the ground come up. The wheels hit the asphalt with a gentle, feather touch. Both of them in sync, making contact at the same time. No loud screech of the rubber hitting the road. No one gear down and then the other. There wasn't a person within earshot who could stop talking about how perfect it was.
So kudos and many thanks to the JetBlue pilot(s) this morning. You gave a cabin full of sleepy, weary travelers a gentle reminder how the talents of a skilled pilot can make getting where you're going much more pleasant.
To everyone who flies, I wish for you what I had today. Happy landings.
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