This past week I had to take a driver’s safety course. Why? Because I was going 46 in a 35 and a magic blinking sign took my picture (beware Portland residents on the Beaverton/Hillsdale highway). My brother tried to convince me that they can’t prove it’s me, but the one moment that I haven’t been wearing a mask in public in the last year, was the moment the flash went off, and the picture was very clearly me. It could have been my headshot submittal for the role of “hopelessly unaware driver #1.” Long story short, I paid $125 instead of $170 for the privilege of sitting in a driving class, via Zoom, to have a man try to convince a virtual room of zombie faces, that, “We were good drivers; we just needed to slow down.” Worth. Every. Penny.
Attempting to get some crowd participation, the instructor asked, “How many of you have taken any kind of driver’s ed since high school?” I didn’t raise my hand, but I should have. Because that very day, before I got to my hotel in Phoenix (where the wi-fi was so spotty that I almost had to redo the traffic school that I didn’t want to do in the first place), I was doing driver’s ed… in the sky.
In a new airplane, you don’t call it “driver’s ed,” you call it “IOE.” That stands for “initial operational experience,” I think. I don’t know. Maybe it stands for, “It’s Okay Everyone,” as in, “I’ve never actually flown this airplane before, but IOE, I stayed in a Holiday Inn Express last night.” Which is pretty accurate. When you learn a new airplane as a commercial pilot, you learn in a simulator without people, but the first time you touch the real airplane, there are paying customers in the back. I am sure as a customer, that sounds terrifying. Don’t worry, it’s unnerving for a pilot too. I am just thankful they don’t make you wear a yellow and black, “caution: new pilot,” sticker on your back.
There is no need to stress or grip the flight attendant by the lapels and ask, “Tell me the truth, has that guy ever flown this airplane?” Why? Because of the check airmen. The check airmen is like your pilot dad, who shows you the ropes. He has to be a super pilot, who can do the job of two people, in case his student freezes up in the airplane. He is put in the paradoxical position of having to trust his student enough to let him touch the controls and fully expect his student to try to kill him (and everyone else) at least once a day over a four-day trip.
So, you can forgive him if the nerves he has left are a little frayed. Imagine that chain-smoking drivers ed instructor you had when you tried to merge on to the interstate for the first time. Except instead of an empty backseat, you have a 150 passengers, and instead of a highway, you are merging with the ground at 160 miles per hour. Most of the check airmen I have had the privilege of working with are great guys besides being great pilots, but their jobs are stressful: a couple of blurted out, “What the f#@% are you doing?!”’s are to be expected.
At the same time, as the student pilot, it’s pretty stressful too because you are trying to prove that you are worthy to be given the keys to the new ride. Unlike driver’s ed, where you just have to do a couple of hours with instructor spaced over weeks or months, IOE can be many solid days over a week or two that you have to be on your best behavior. Every day begins with a prayer of pleading, “Please God, don’t let me F up too much today and please don’t let pilot dad get angry at me.” Every night ends with a prayer of thanks, “Thanks God for not letting my F up too bad and please find a third wife for pilot dad, he’s not that bad.”
I knew my most recent IOE was done when I had an amazing landing, if I do say so myself. It was the kind where you don’t really feel the main wheels touchdown. When one second you are in the air, and then one second you are on the ground, and for a moment, you can’t tell which is which. But after I landed, I paused a second before engaging the reverse thrust. This was something my check airman had been getting on me about the entire trip, “Get the reverse thrust out faster!” So, after my landing I beat him to the punch,
“I know, I know. Get the reverse thrust out faster.” As we pulled into the gate, shutdown the engines, and ran our checklists, I held my breath. This was normally the moment when my pilot dad would list all of the things I could have done better, but instead he just said, “I’m going inside to grab a coffee, do you want anything?” Which after a month and a half of training, and a week of IOE, felt pretty good. That was the equivalent of pilot dad saying, “Hey, you’re signed off, you’ve got the keys. We’re just two pilots flying around now.” It’s also his way of saying, “Please quit calling me your dad. I told you I’m not your dad.”
