Kingstoncarl
eric
sonia dellinghausen
vvk106
Otto_LilienthalWhile flying on NW Flight 1897 , from MSP to SLC, on April 12, /08 , the Capt. initially announced final approach , and on-time arrival the gate. During final approach he made a sudden pull - up, then began circling around the many high mountain peaks that surround Salt Lake City.
He finally announced a suspected landing gear problem, and that he was ordering an "abnormal landing" emergency procedure . The crew then began an emergency briefing for everone. He circled for over an hour , ( presumably burning off fuel ?) , then announced we were going in to land.
The plane a Embraer 190 had about 100 people aboard. It was a very tense and harrowing experience for all.
It did land normally in the end , about 1 1/2 hours late.
I have not seen any information posted about this emergency in any blogs or news articles.
Do airlines ever offer any compensation for things like this ?
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Newest Flight Stories
Note: This is just a summary page of the 10 newest flight stories. To view the fully detailed story page, click on the corresponding links.
"Abnormal Landing" at SLC
Shock
I had a shock this morning. It seems in the hurry to send all of their 737s to the boneyard, United finally got the airbus junkpiles to Wichita. I was in the kitchen and heard GE fans turning and burning. When I stepped out on my deck, lo and behold it was an a319 in United colors headed for Denver. At least this flying corrosion trap was somewhat to the south of my house. Unfortunately it was over St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Church and School. There was no where to run!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Can you tell, I am not an airbus fan.
I'd rather take Amtrak than ride in an airbus. I know how they build them and I WILL NOT get on one.
The KC-45 is a separate subject. It will be trashed at another time.
I just discoverd this site recently and it may the perfect place to run down the garbage from Toulouse and Hamburg.
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Can you tell, I am not an airbus fan.
I'd rather take Amtrak than ride in an airbus. I know how they build them and I WILL NOT get on one.
The KC-45 is a separate subject. It will be trashed at another time.
I just discoverd this site recently and it may the perfect place to run down the garbage from Toulouse and Hamburg.
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My Dad And Those Wonderful Flying Machines
My Dad And Those Wonderful Flying Machines
By Earlaiman
Words 1451
October 2, 2002
It was back in the early thirties; I couldn't have been more than four or five years old. I remember I was still small enough for my dad to carry me on his shoulders when we went to see the airplanes.
Barnstormers used to fly in and use the pastures along the road north of our home in Southeastern Michigan on summer weekends. They would line their airplanes tail by tail along the barbed wire fences that lined the drainage ditches along the road. This was rural country then, and there were a number of fields, flat and green pastures, perfectly suitable for cows and red, green, blue and yellow biplanes with their shining doped skins, lacquered laminated wood props and leather trimmed cockpits.
We didn't have much money and dad never had enough for that two dollar ride he wanted to treat me and my brother to so badly. Every weekend he wished he had, and he promised "...someday son, someday I'll take you for a ride in one of those airplanes."
We went out to the "airfields" almost every summer Sunday to watch the planes come and go, or to wander up and down the row inspecting the two, three or four who might have flown in that weekend, looking into the cockpits, staring up at the big rotary engines with their shining black and brass parts and fixtures.
There wasn't much money around in those days and the machines mostly sat idle along the fence being looked at more than they came and went. Dad seemed to know many of the pilots and they would sit, smoke and talk about things.
I remember, only once did dad mention the day that one of those airplanes had a problem and came down in a crash. He ran across the field and helped the pilot out of the wreck, carried him back across the field and drove him to the hospital. That was before my time, or I was too young to remember the incident, but my mother did. She remarked how his best Sunday white shirt was torn and stained by the blood of the pilot and how his suit had to be sent to the cleaners. The pilot recovered, flew away somewhere and he never saw him again.
Those were wonderful summer days and wondrous machines which evoked dreams of clear blue skies and puffy white clouds in far away places.
A favorite picture around our house was a PanAm Airways advertisement in the back of National Geographic Magazine, advertising the China Clipper Flying Boat service across the Pacific. A handsome man in white linen suit and Panama hat is sitting across from a beautiful lady in a lacy white cotton dress and white summer hat, sharing two cool, fruit laden drinks in tall frosted glasses at a small round table between two tall palm trees that frame a dark blue lagoon in which floated, smack in the middle, riding sedately at anchor, a beautiful white PanAm China Clipper.
Dad had always dreamed of flying, but youthful love, early marriage and the inevitable onset of children, their needs and his meager resources dictated otherwise.
He often repeated the wistful promise "...someday son, someday I'll take you for a ride in one of those airplanes...."
It was to be longer than he thought. And it was not he who took me for a ride in the airplane.
Years passed, the young men who flew out of the pastures for two dollars a ride went on somewhere else, perhaps to PanAm or the other Airlines, perhaps to the wars, of which there were many.
The bright blue, green, red and yellow lacquered biplanes were replaced by shiny aluminum monoplanes which got bigger and faster, acquired more engines, guns, and were emblazoned with stars, roundels, crosses and suns.
And, now that everyone had much more money, rides no longer cost two dollars.
I had grown and gone off. Wars, work and family intervened and Dad had grown grayer. Strangely enough, although I was much bigger, had grown in important places, lost it in others, and had raised children of my own, I did not feel any older inside and I still carried the memory of those colorful airplanes in the farmer's field and that small table beside the lagoon.
I had discovered that the lagoon was probably modeled after the Pan American Flying Boat refueling and layover base in Nadi, Fiji, although it could have been anywhere else in the South Pacific. I had even had a drink or two on that beach at Tomba ko Nadi, but the little round table was not there and the tourists I saw were not at all as fit, well-groomed and dressed as that handsome couple in the poster. I had also discovered that flying airplanes was not always "blue skies and pop-corn clouds."
Dad had retired long ago after a life of long and hard, but productive, work.
I was on leave, transferring between duty stations, having decided to make the Navy a career after a couple of wars. I stopped at home for a week while traveling across the country.
J.D. was an old friend from the neighborhood. He had flown with the U.S. Army Air Corps in the latter months of the Big War. Blacked out, twin engined night-fighters, Vampires, Black Beauties, or something like that, as I recall. Dad mentioned that he was back home and running a small aero-photography operation with one small airplane out at the local airfield.
The pastures, too, had come up in the world and now had a gravel strip, hangars, a fuel pump, a small office and the grand title of Municipal Airfield!
I called J.D. and set up a meet out at the airstrip. He couldn't lend me his own airplane, it was totally inadequate and, as he said, you gotta know this plane intimately to make it go up and come down in the same condition. But, he had a friend who owned a Champion 7-AC who would, he was sure, be glad to lend me his aircraft for a few hours. A phone call and, with J.D.'s endorsement of my abilities, it was done.
I hauled Dad out to the car after breakfast the next morning and told him we were going for a ride...out to the airfield where he used to take me as a child. Nice!
He was pleased and surprised when we pulled up beside the little yellow monoplane with the red engine cowl and he caught on to the idea that it was in this little airplane that we were going to "go for the ride."
It was a nice day; a cold, crisp and clear January afternoon in Southern Michigan. The trees were black and bare and there was snow on the ground.
We cranked up (I had to do the hand-prop, pull-the-chocks-and-jump-in fast by myself, Dad would not even think of standing under that sharp wood prop and pulling down on it). We taxied out, eased off, flew out over a white, frozen Lake St. Clair and toured low and slow among the ice-fishing shacks out on the lake.
"We used to fish out here when you were little, son. Remember?" Of course I remembered, why else were we here?
On the way back to the airstrip, we grab a few thousand feet and, "Ready, Dad?” ...we pull a nice big, soft and smooth loop, then,...let her build up some airspeed,...pull back up to a stall,...and she falls into a lazy spin. Dad sat back there grinning and hanging onto airplane with both hands.
One loop, one spin; that was enough for an airplane that old and someone else's at that. We head home.
The turbulence below two thousand is more than he can handle and, a few hundred feet out on final I get a tap on the shoulder to turn and see a struggling, embarrassed old man with bulging cheeks, baseball cap in hand and eyes popping the question, "Where?" I indicate that I am busy at the moment, to just open the door, throw out the hat and chuck up the rest.
Doors make great speed brakes if you ever need one on a Champion 7-AC, and I was pleased that my old Basic Flight Instructor had thoroughly drilled me on slips to a landing because we completed our final in a steep forward slip, crabbing sideways down into the field.
As we drove home, he remarked, "That was my dream! Now, I've flown with my son; and he took me for a ride in his own airplane!"
A Note:
I subsequently took my own sons for "rides in airplanes." The first time when they were about four and five, in a Cessna 120. Many times later, as they grew older, in !70's 172's a J-3, and a Navion. Once, I was able to sneak them both into the rear seat of a T-34, and show them some upside down flying.
Both are successful bisinessmen now, with no interest in airplanes. It's computers and cars... and a hellova lot more money than I ever saw! And, they get to sleep at home every night.
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By Earlaiman
Words 1451
October 2, 2002
It was back in the early thirties; I couldn't have been more than four or five years old. I remember I was still small enough for my dad to carry me on his shoulders when we went to see the airplanes.
Barnstormers used to fly in and use the pastures along the road north of our home in Southeastern Michigan on summer weekends. They would line their airplanes tail by tail along the barbed wire fences that lined the drainage ditches along the road. This was rural country then, and there were a number of fields, flat and green pastures, perfectly suitable for cows and red, green, blue and yellow biplanes with their shining doped skins, lacquered laminated wood props and leather trimmed cockpits.
We didn't have much money and dad never had enough for that two dollar ride he wanted to treat me and my brother to so badly. Every weekend he wished he had, and he promised "...someday son, someday I'll take you for a ride in one of those airplanes."
We went out to the "airfields" almost every summer Sunday to watch the planes come and go, or to wander up and down the row inspecting the two, three or four who might have flown in that weekend, looking into the cockpits, staring up at the big rotary engines with their shining black and brass parts and fixtures.
There wasn't much money around in those days and the machines mostly sat idle along the fence being looked at more than they came and went. Dad seemed to know many of the pilots and they would sit, smoke and talk about things.
I remember, only once did dad mention the day that one of those airplanes had a problem and came down in a crash. He ran across the field and helped the pilot out of the wreck, carried him back across the field and drove him to the hospital. That was before my time, or I was too young to remember the incident, but my mother did. She remarked how his best Sunday white shirt was torn and stained by the blood of the pilot and how his suit had to be sent to the cleaners. The pilot recovered, flew away somewhere and he never saw him again.
Those were wonderful summer days and wondrous machines which evoked dreams of clear blue skies and puffy white clouds in far away places.
A favorite picture around our house was a PanAm Airways advertisement in the back of National Geographic Magazine, advertising the China Clipper Flying Boat service across the Pacific. A handsome man in white linen suit and Panama hat is sitting across from a beautiful lady in a lacy white cotton dress and white summer hat, sharing two cool, fruit laden drinks in tall frosted glasses at a small round table between two tall palm trees that frame a dark blue lagoon in which floated, smack in the middle, riding sedately at anchor, a beautiful white PanAm China Clipper.
Dad had always dreamed of flying, but youthful love, early marriage and the inevitable onset of children, their needs and his meager resources dictated otherwise.
He often repeated the wistful promise "...someday son, someday I'll take you for a ride in one of those airplanes...."
It was to be longer than he thought. And it was not he who took me for a ride in the airplane.
Years passed, the young men who flew out of the pastures for two dollars a ride went on somewhere else, perhaps to PanAm or the other Airlines, perhaps to the wars, of which there were many.
The bright blue, green, red and yellow lacquered biplanes were replaced by shiny aluminum monoplanes which got bigger and faster, acquired more engines, guns, and were emblazoned with stars, roundels, crosses and suns.
And, now that everyone had much more money, rides no longer cost two dollars.
I had grown and gone off. Wars, work and family intervened and Dad had grown grayer. Strangely enough, although I was much bigger, had grown in important places, lost it in others, and had raised children of my own, I did not feel any older inside and I still carried the memory of those colorful airplanes in the farmer's field and that small table beside the lagoon.
I had discovered that the lagoon was probably modeled after the Pan American Flying Boat refueling and layover base in Nadi, Fiji, although it could have been anywhere else in the South Pacific. I had even had a drink or two on that beach at Tomba ko Nadi, but the little round table was not there and the tourists I saw were not at all as fit, well-groomed and dressed as that handsome couple in the poster. I had also discovered that flying airplanes was not always "blue skies and pop-corn clouds."
Dad had retired long ago after a life of long and hard, but productive, work.
I was on leave, transferring between duty stations, having decided to make the Navy a career after a couple of wars. I stopped at home for a week while traveling across the country.
J.D. was an old friend from the neighborhood. He had flown with the U.S. Army Air Corps in the latter months of the Big War. Blacked out, twin engined night-fighters, Vampires, Black Beauties, or something like that, as I recall. Dad mentioned that he was back home and running a small aero-photography operation with one small airplane out at the local airfield.
The pastures, too, had come up in the world and now had a gravel strip, hangars, a fuel pump, a small office and the grand title of Municipal Airfield!
I called J.D. and set up a meet out at the airstrip. He couldn't lend me his own airplane, it was totally inadequate and, as he said, you gotta know this plane intimately to make it go up and come down in the same condition. But, he had a friend who owned a Champion 7-AC who would, he was sure, be glad to lend me his aircraft for a few hours. A phone call and, with J.D.'s endorsement of my abilities, it was done.
I hauled Dad out to the car after breakfast the next morning and told him we were going for a ride...out to the airfield where he used to take me as a child. Nice!
He was pleased and surprised when we pulled up beside the little yellow monoplane with the red engine cowl and he caught on to the idea that it was in this little airplane that we were going to "go for the ride."
It was a nice day; a cold, crisp and clear January afternoon in Southern Michigan. The trees were black and bare and there was snow on the ground.
We cranked up (I had to do the hand-prop, pull-the-chocks-and-jump-in fast by myself, Dad would not even think of standing under that sharp wood prop and pulling down on it). We taxied out, eased off, flew out over a white, frozen Lake St. Clair and toured low and slow among the ice-fishing shacks out on the lake.
"We used to fish out here when you were little, son. Remember?" Of course I remembered, why else were we here?
On the way back to the airstrip, we grab a few thousand feet and, "Ready, Dad?” ...we pull a nice big, soft and smooth loop, then,...let her build up some airspeed,...pull back up to a stall,...and she falls into a lazy spin. Dad sat back there grinning and hanging onto airplane with both hands.
One loop, one spin; that was enough for an airplane that old and someone else's at that. We head home.
The turbulence below two thousand is more than he can handle and, a few hundred feet out on final I get a tap on the shoulder to turn and see a struggling, embarrassed old man with bulging cheeks, baseball cap in hand and eyes popping the question, "Where?" I indicate that I am busy at the moment, to just open the door, throw out the hat and chuck up the rest.
Doors make great speed brakes if you ever need one on a Champion 7-AC, and I was pleased that my old Basic Flight Instructor had thoroughly drilled me on slips to a landing because we completed our final in a steep forward slip, crabbing sideways down into the field.
As we drove home, he remarked, "That was my dream! Now, I've flown with my son; and he took me for a ride in his own airplane!"
A Note:
I subsequently took my own sons for "rides in airplanes." The first time when they were about four and five, in a Cessna 120. Many times later, as they grew older, in !70's 172's a J-3, and a Navion. Once, I was able to sneak them both into the rear seat of a T-34, and show them some upside down flying.
Both are successful bisinessmen now, with no interest in airplanes. It's computers and cars... and a hellova lot more money than I ever saw! And, they get to sleep at home every night.
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You dont always get what you want
Some controllers at PDX make the heavy cargo birds wait a too long time to depart. They will literaly clear the approach, pattern, and departing que until they let them go.
DHL guys spoke up: "Is there a reason why we are waiting 5 minutes in between dash 8s to depart?"
the girl with a cute voice up on the concrete throne was caught off guard: "please repeat?"
DHL: "Are we going to get the runway or should we just shut down our engines?"
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DHL guys spoke up: "Is there a reason why we are waiting 5 minutes in between dash 8s to depart?"
the girl with a cute voice up on the concrete throne was caught off guard: "please repeat?"
DHL: "Are we going to get the runway or should we just shut down our engines?"
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Flight 420 Engine Failure
I was on Southwest Flight 420 from LAX to Oakland on December 5th 2007 and experienced possibly the exact same thing as the passengers of flight 438 out of Dallas. The flight left at 2:40 and about 10 minutes into the flight there was a loud explosion and huge flash of red and yellow light on the right side of the airplane. The plane lost altitutde but it never felt as if the piolt had lost control.
It seemed like at least five minutes passed before the piolt announced we had lost the number 2 engine and were returning to LA.
I tried to google the flight number, southwest and anything else I could think of but can't find anything about what happened to the airplane and what caused it.
Can anyone suggest a website or blog that would have more information?
Thanks,
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It seemed like at least five minutes passed before the piolt announced we had lost the number 2 engine and were returning to LA.
I tried to google the flight number, southwest and anything else I could think of but can't find anything about what happened to the airplane and what caused it.
Can anyone suggest a website or blog that would have more information?
Thanks,
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Cell Phones on Airplanes ... Just Try It
Now that American Airlines announced they’ll be testing an on-board Wi-Fi Internet service with AirCell beginning next year, can on-board cell phone usage be far behind? Imagine the fun as we all get to listen in on one more person who thinks they need to yell into their cell phone to be heard.
But for once, I’m not going to wait until airline travel becomes even more excruciating than it already is.
I’m taking matters into my own hands with a promise - no make that a guarantee - that anyone who flies next to me on an airliner should know about before they even think of calling the office to talk about some damn deal or ring their girlfriend about how way cool the concert was.
I’m calling my system iPod Payback,(patent pending of course). Consider this note advanced warning to all who may choose to challenge what little peace and quiet there is left aboard an airliner.
The Windup
My personal cell-phone defense mechanism demands only three major components … my iPod Shuffle attached to my big geeky BOSE headphones and me.
Here’s how it works.
First we need a victim, in this case me as a passenger in my favorite row 12 - not too much engine noise and less than 20 minutes to get off the airplane after landing.
Then we need a victimizer. That would be anyone crazy enough to start babbling on their cell phone while I’m close enough to hear.
The system is simple. They talk and I talk, sort of. First I pull my iPod and headphones from the bag.
Next, I carefully plant the headphones on my head in such a way that there is little or no chance I’ll be able to hear anything anyone says once I crank it up.
Now, with my neighbor carefully explaining the night before to everyone in the cabin, none of whom of course care, I push the button and my iPod comes to life. I carefully select a tune certain to demand high screechy notes from my voice … and I begin.
An Action-Packed Finale
Within seconds of cranking up the volume on some Rolling Stones classic, “I see the red door and I want it painted BLACK!” the anti-chaos begins.
Nearby passengers are certain to tumble to the floor in pain as I sing in the key of M. Since I’ll have my BOSE tightly pressed to my ears, I will of course hear none of this, and will go on singing.
“HAYYYY JUDE. DON’T MAKE IT BAD. TAKE A SAD SONG AND MAKE IT BETTER.”
With dozens of other passengers crying in agony over my rendition of a Lennon/McCartney masterpiece, the noise should be sufficient to force any cell phone user to abandon their call over the rudeness of their cabin mates.
That’s when I get the thumbs-up signal from the lady in row 7 and turn off the iPod.
I repeat this process, as needed, until all local cellphone usage is terminated or a fellow passenger throws my iPod or someone’s cellphone at the cabin bulkhead. I will, of course, have also formed previous alliances with parents of small screaming children to assist me as needed to help rid the cabin of cell phone callers.
Note: These rules of engagement would be completely unnecessary aboard a business aircraft where people respect each other’s privacy.
rob@jetwhine.com
www.jetwhine.com
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But for once, I’m not going to wait until airline travel becomes even more excruciating than it already is.
I’m taking matters into my own hands with a promise - no make that a guarantee - that anyone who flies next to me on an airliner should know about before they even think of calling the office to talk about some damn deal or ring their girlfriend about how way cool the concert was.
I’m calling my system iPod Payback,(patent pending of course). Consider this note advanced warning to all who may choose to challenge what little peace and quiet there is left aboard an airliner.
The Windup
My personal cell-phone defense mechanism demands only three major components … my iPod Shuffle attached to my big geeky BOSE headphones and me.
Here’s how it works.
First we need a victim, in this case me as a passenger in my favorite row 12 - not too much engine noise and less than 20 minutes to get off the airplane after landing.
Then we need a victimizer. That would be anyone crazy enough to start babbling on their cell phone while I’m close enough to hear.
The system is simple. They talk and I talk, sort of. First I pull my iPod and headphones from the bag.
Next, I carefully plant the headphones on my head in such a way that there is little or no chance I’ll be able to hear anything anyone says once I crank it up.
Now, with my neighbor carefully explaining the night before to everyone in the cabin, none of whom of course care, I push the button and my iPod comes to life. I carefully select a tune certain to demand high screechy notes from my voice … and I begin.
An Action-Packed Finale
Within seconds of cranking up the volume on some Rolling Stones classic, “I see the red door and I want it painted BLACK!” the anti-chaos begins.
Nearby passengers are certain to tumble to the floor in pain as I sing in the key of M. Since I’ll have my BOSE tightly pressed to my ears, I will of course hear none of this, and will go on singing.
“HAYYYY JUDE. DON’T MAKE IT BAD. TAKE A SAD SONG AND MAKE IT BETTER.”
With dozens of other passengers crying in agony over my rendition of a Lennon/McCartney masterpiece, the noise should be sufficient to force any cell phone user to abandon their call over the rudeness of their cabin mates.
That’s when I get the thumbs-up signal from the lady in row 7 and turn off the iPod.
I repeat this process, as needed, until all local cellphone usage is terminated or a fellow passenger throws my iPod or someone’s cellphone at the cabin bulkhead. I will, of course, have also formed previous alliances with parents of small screaming children to assist me as needed to help rid the cabin of cell phone callers.
Note: These rules of engagement would be completely unnecessary aboard a business aircraft where people respect each other’s privacy.
rob@jetwhine.com
www.jetwhine.com
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Don't mix the hand set!
Continental flight with an Airbus A319 of an american airline.
One houre before landing the captain left the cockpit to use the forward lavatory. In accordance with security regulations, a flight attendant stayed with the first officer while the captain was gone.
When the captain came back, he called the cockpit for re-admittance. Before he could say anything, the flight attendant opened the door as the first officer accidentally used the intercom hand set, and said "Death to the infidels"! Of course this saying was heared in the whole cabin!
Immediately the first officer apologized to everyone for making this "joke".
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One houre before landing the captain left the cockpit to use the forward lavatory. In accordance with security regulations, a flight attendant stayed with the first officer while the captain was gone.
When the captain came back, he called the cockpit for re-admittance. Before he could say anything, the flight attendant opened the door as the first officer accidentally used the intercom hand set, and said "Death to the infidels"! Of course this saying was heared in the whole cabin!
Immediately the first officer apologized to everyone for making this "joke".
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Freezing pax
Hello,
I was on a SAA flight from Cape Town -> Frankfurt this spring, and had a pax sitting behind me, asking the stewardess roughly short before take off, if it would be possible to heat the plane a bit because he was freezing... (It was while she was getting her seat for take off..) she said that she would tell the Captain as soon as possible after take off.
about a minute or two after take off he was being grumpy to his wife that it is still not warmer and he will never fly with SAA again... I don't know what he thinks the pilots have to do during take off, but I am happy that they are not worrying about the cabin heat in that phase of flight Wink
As soon as service started he complained again, and for a short time I was thinking of saying something but decided it is not worth it.... Even if done directly it needs some time to get warmer....
How stupid can people are???
BTW, It was one of the best and funniest long haul flights I had so far.. Never had such an amusing Cabin crew!!!
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I was on a SAA flight from Cape Town -> Frankfurt this spring, and had a pax sitting behind me, asking the stewardess roughly short before take off, if it would be possible to heat the plane a bit because he was freezing... (It was while she was getting her seat for take off..) she said that she would tell the Captain as soon as possible after take off.
about a minute or two after take off he was being grumpy to his wife that it is still not warmer and he will never fly with SAA again... I don't know what he thinks the pilots have to do during take off, but I am happy that they are not worrying about the cabin heat in that phase of flight Wink
As soon as service started he complained again, and for a short time I was thinking of saying something but decided it is not worth it.... Even if done directly it needs some time to get warmer....
How stupid can people are???
BTW, It was one of the best and funniest long haul flights I had so far.. Never had such an amusing Cabin crew!!!
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Airline Life
Just a link to a great story on the life of an airline pilot... It is a general story, I think, but seems to have gotten legs from the pilot community.. I have seen it now on 4 other sites....
http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/364996/flying_the_unfriendly_skies_with_an.html
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http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/364996/flying_the_unfriendly_skies_with_an.html
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The Shaved Flight Attendant
The following communication was heared by all passengers because the intercom was accidentally turned on.
F/A: Dude, my back itches like a mf
Capt: What happened to you at home?
F/A: My ol' lady decided to shave my back while I was asleep. She did a good job because I didn't wake up.
F/O: Damn, Larry, how many beers did you drink last night?
F/A: A few. I just know my back itches like hell!
Capt: I'm glad Nandi finally shaved your back. Now maybe you won't scare kids in the hotel pool on our overnight...
F/A: Uhh, Hi, welcome aboard, hope ya'll didn't hear that.
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F/A: Dude, my back itches like a mf
Capt: What happened to you at home?
F/A: My ol' lady decided to shave my back while I was asleep. She did a good job because I didn't wake up.
F/O: Damn, Larry, how many beers did you drink last night?
F/A: A few. I just know my back itches like hell!
Capt: I'm glad Nandi finally shaved your back. Now maybe you won't scare kids in the hotel pool on our overnight...
F/A: Uhh, Hi, welcome aboard, hope ya'll didn't hear that.
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