Day 146 - Vic

Position Report: Jacksonville, Florida
Status: Delayed/Neglected
Mood: Debatable

Today was the first day of cross-countries. I’m flying with a pretty cool dude named Tripp, and our flight(s) today consisted of a morning departure from Bowling Green to Charlotte, North Carolina; we then continued on to Jacksonville, Florida, the termination of our day’s routing.

I find myself particularly irritated, because I once again find myself in the fabled position of “hurry up and wait.” You see, I was notified that the Tripp will be flying with another fellow tomorrow while your’s truly will be… Uh…. Well… Let’s just say that it’s a good thing that I have a few movies on my laptop.
Company dispatch was kind enough to advise me of this fact after we had landed, which managed to spin me into a dimension of irritation that we’ll not discuss here. I’m having some major issues here, and I freely admit that they are largely attributable to homesickness. In fact, the desire to be out of here is overwhelming. The issue now is that I’m homesick twice; homesick for my actual home, and homesick for my beloved Jasper. Compounding these issues is the continued (and expected) ration of crap that the company feeds me, thereby prolonging my stay and exacerbating my sadness.
By 6 p.m. I was pacing outside some random apartment complex in which the company had stuck us for the night, spitting nails and breathing fire. All I want to do is finish this mess and go home. A reasonable request, I think. Questions bounced around in my head furiously as I pondered the future. Is this ever going to end? Is there not a better way? And just then I remembered a statement that Mr. Page had once made: “You’re not married to any one flight school.” In a flash my trusty PDA phone was in action, scrolling through the speed dials with fervor and intensity rivaling any bookworm with a slide rule. I scrolled until I found Sara’s number, an instructor/friend from Jasper. After an enriching conversation with her, in which I inquired about returning there to complete all subsequent ratings after I finish this cross-country “training,” I felt somewhat better.
I felt even better when a striped Crown Victoria rounded the corner and halted. Black and white checkers adorned the side, and the word “TAXI” glowed like a beacon from the roof. A mustachioed New Yorker sat behind the wheel; a seemingly blunt and brash fellow named Vic. Vic is an independent contractor that works 7 days a week, and is the exclusive cab driver for the company, so he is directly contacted via cell phone anytime a flight crew needs a ride. He had driven us from the airport to the apartment, and had now returned to take us to supper. The 55-year-old chauffeured us through greater Jacksonville at what seemed like the speed of light, speaking endlessly about a little bit of everything. He was an approachable fellow with one of those natural personalities that you can’t help but like; outwardly gruff but easily approachable and extremely outgoing, despite the frequent, heavily-accented vulgarities that flew from behind his silver mustache. The quintessential Brooklyn native he definitely was.
In fact, he was so pleasant that we invited him to eat with us, and we bought his supper for being so kind and helpful to us. He took us to a hole-in-the-wall sports bar & grill, where we enjoyed shrimp, chicken, and laughter until we were literally in tears. Vic loved every minute of it, putting on a comedy routine that belonged on a stage somewhere.
But there was a distinct sadness about Vic; a hidden loneliness that was apparent to me by the way in which he latched onto people. These suspicions were confirmed as we pulled back into the apartment complex, and Vic began to speak.
“Thank you guys,” he said. “No, really, thank you. You guys have made my day, my week, my month! I’ve had a really #$%^ty week and you guys made me feel good. I was just sitting at home by myself watching 60 Minutes when you guys called. Most of the pilots aren’t nice to me, like they think they’re better than me or something. Like they lost their #$%^ing personality when they learned to fly. You guys are really cool. Thank you for everything.”
My heart melted. I could see that Vic wore no wedding band, and I had the mental image of him spending countless nights alone at his house, watching television, hoping the telephone would summon him to a cab fare, if for no other reason than to give him someone to talk to. I hope I’m incorrect, but the way that it touched him for us to show friendship to him suggested to me that I probably wasn’t.
Sometimes it takes little things like that to remind you of certain blessings in life that other people may not enjoy, something as simple as a friendship. The encounter certainly made me think. It made me think about y’all, my friends that don’t read, and my friends in Jasper; specifically how much I want to see each one of you again. The longing for the presence of my friends and family was made even worse by the realization of Vic’s plight, but it also made me think that sometimes, maybe it’s good to be homesick...

It means that you have a home to go home to.


Until next time,

Joey