Day 101 - Laodicean

I watched Matt gyrate up and down in the living room floor, cranking out one push-up after another. It was about the third exercise in his nightly routine. Experience told me that a highly entertaining round of vigorous shadow-boxing should follow right about... Yep. There it is. Right on schedule. I was sprawled out on one of the couches, wondering what could drive someone to be such a fitness nut. Some mental imbalance? Masochism, maybe? Whatever component it is that motivates such desires, I obviously don’t have it. I reached for the Dr. Pepper can that sat beside my oven-cooked frozen pizza, downing a man-sized portion of the liquid before speaking. “Ya know, you almost make me feel bad,” I said to him; an obvious reference to my laziness in contrast with his determination and physical exertion. For effect, I appropriately punctuated the statement by releasing a loud, Dr. Pepper-fueled belch that echoed through the trailer like a train horn through a tunnel. “Almost.”
The loud bass noise temporarily drowned out the television, which was providing us entertainment in the form of the National Spelling Bee. Who does that, anyway? Who sits around and watches brain-washed middle schoolers attempt to spell ridiculously obscure words? And why on earth did this warrant live broadcast on national television? It seemed to me that the great pride should be found in not knowing how to spell “laodicean,” which apparently means “to be indifferent in politics.” The absence of this knowledge should indicate that one’s brain is hopefully more occupied with knowledge that is actually applicable to real life.
Mine, on the other hand, was just fried. Knowledge and relative applicability not withstanding, mine was abused to the point of surrender or strike, I haven’t decided which. I spent much of the day doing practice tests from an FAA written exam and my eyes are just now starting to uncross. I’ve got to get it knocked out, since my checkride is this weekend. Fortunately it was moved to Sunday, giving me an extra day to get everything ironed out in hopes that some miracle will rain down from heaven, thereby allowing me to pass. That’s the good news.
The bad news is that yours truly is getting shipped back to Atlanta. Imagine that. One would think that a little common sense would come into play when assigning pilots to cross-country airports, but apparently not. No, instead Lloyd the Laodicean Pilot shall be sent head-first into the lion’s den of school politics and cultural nausea. So that’s going to be my cross to bear in the coming days, it seems. This is not confirmed, but strongly implied. If course, this company is such a joke that I’ll not believe anything until it has already happened. There’s no concrete plan for anything involving the cross-country stage, or any scheduling thereof, so who knows. They may decide to send me to New Jersey for all I know. Only the ringmaster knows for sure.
I’m not looking forward to this, as we have spoken about several times, but my mood is gradually shifting from one of complete dread to defiant rage. I’m not looking forward to stomaching this ration of crap, be well-assured of that, and I certainly have no love lost for Atlanta, but at times I think it would be rather nice to stroll proudly through the door and remind them that I have faced down bigger and badder than them, and no one has figured out how to kill me yet. Yet.

So there’s the Thursday report. As more information becomes available, you shall have it. As I say, the school is not very forthcoming with plans or information, but I strongly suspect this to be a byproduct of colossal ignorance. It’s hard to share information when you don’t have a clue yourself. And as long as people like this exist, I’m sure I’ll keep my proud reputation of “contagious negativity.”


Long live the laodicean.

Joey