Day 49 - For Want Of A Sock

-"And Two Tango Lima, Tuscaloosa Tower. Winds variable two-seven-zero to three-one-zero at one-five, gusting to two-two. Altimeter two-niner-niner-four, report entering a right base for two nine. Traffic's a Texan departing runway four."
Niiiiiice. My first time flying a Cessna. The air is bumpier than five miles of country road, I've got Joey in the front and Ed in the back, and let's just throw a stout, variable, gusting wind in the mix. No pressure at all.
My task was to ferry the Boss to Tuscaloosa to pick up an airplane. I would ride back with him, and Ed would fly the Cessna back to our airport. Unfortunately it was atrocious flying weather, the worst I've flown in a little while, and as previously mentioned I had never flown this particular aircraft ever before in my life. One of, if not THE, most popular general aviation aircraft in history, and I didn't have a minute's time in it. My landing would prove that.
After the second bounce, I heard Joey start laughing in my headset. Not a taunting or sarcastic laugh, but merely an amused, almost parental laugh. Like a father watching his son attempt with everything in him to hit a baseball, only to miss and fall over from an over exertion of force in the swing. His chuckles seem to convey a sense of fulfilled expectation on his part, like he knew I'd do exactly what I did. "Here," he said. I saw him uncross his arms and calmly reach for the yoke in my peripheral vision. "Lemme help ya." He eased back on the yoke and helped me settle it on to the runway.
Despite my whole-hearted attempted to shove the main gear up through the fuselage of the airplane, we successfully completed our mission. Surprisingly, I didn't really feel that bad about my landing. Ed didn't seem very miffed by it, and Joey admitted that it was an "awful day to fly a Cessna for the first time. It's very different than what you're used to." Ed and I discussed it on the way back, and that helped. Ed is very forthright with constructive criticism and honest observation, neither of which did he heap in great volume onto me with regard to my landing in the hurricanado, so I felt decent about it. I wanna try it again.

I really really like flying with Ed, which brings me to the title of today's post. Tommorow Ed is taking another charter trip, which means that your's truly gets to fly the right seat again! We'll be leaving here in the morning and picking up our passenger in McVegas, then carrying him on to the Louisville area. After dropping him off, it's sweet home Alabama for me and Ed.
Since I will be assuming the identity that the Big Dog calls "First Officer Joe," I naturally shall attempt to look at least semi-professional, as I do each time that I fly with Ed on a passenger trip. And since I'm not a morning person, I decided to lay my clothes out tonight. And I am missing one mate from my favorite pair of argyle socks. Shut up. I like my socks. (This means you, Daniel).
This aeronautical bachelor lifestyle is really taking a toll on my laundry. I swear, the visible wear on my collared shirts seems to accelerate daily, along with the collection of new oil and grease stains from various grimey aircraft. These particular stains are basically impossible to remove, or at least they stubbornly refuse my own efforts, and I gather unto me more of them each day. It seems that each article of clothing either already has its own unique set of war wounds, or is destined to accumulate them.
And on top of that, I've now lost a sock.
I completely dismantled my suite in the mansion, and cannot find it. It was, admittedly a brief search, but let's face it: there are only so many places that something can hide in a room that's just slightly larger than a Mexican prison cell. And how a dress sock manages to disappear within the confines of the aforementioned area is just beyond me. An inspection of the recently repaired dryer proved fruitless as well. It's not in my dirty laundry, nor in my overnight bag. I do not believe that it got hungry and ran to town for a meal, nor do I believe that it just stepped out for a cigarette. No, my own passing understanding of the movement patterns of abiotic items leads me to consider it highly unlikely that it left under its own power. Thus, I am beginning to suspect foul play. Perhaps it is a conspiracy, I don't know. I hesitate to comment about an ongoing investigation. The only theory that I will publicly advance is as follows: The butler did it, in the study, with a candlestick.

All in all, a good day again. We're one day closer to my mini-vacation, and tommorow looks like it holds great promise as well. I can't wait to go flying with Ed, with or without my beloved sock.


Kentucky here I come (God help them).

Joey