You're cringing now, aren't you?
When I told Lithus I had officially turned down the unconstiutional and fascist job, he said "I'm in L.A. on standby. Why don't you come down here for a little while? We haven't flown in a month so it should be quiet."
You're laughing now, aren't you? Because you know the end of this story already, huh? Yeah...
The first few days were indeed slow. There was lots of sitting around. Lots of racing remote control cars. Lots of staring off into space. I was an incredibly productive author out of sheer boredom. And have a lovely tan thanks to the California sun. But then... Yep, the Santa Ana winds kicked up and the guys got busy. Really, really busy.
I watched these guys go from racing remote control cars to crawling inside the engine of a Sikorsky 61 (that's a really big fucking helicopter to you and me.) Watched them go from napping in the shade of that really big fucking helicopter and smoking a lazy cigarette to flying it into hurricane-force winds with sustained gusts of 105 miles per hour. I listened, afterwards, as these guys got drunk and toasted, not themselves, but each other.
I watched people on the news praise them as heroes. I watched people in the bar stare, transfixed, as they watched the really big fucking helicopter drop water on flames ~ without ever knowing the men who had been flying her when that footage was taken were sitting right there in the corner. And I watched these men turn away from the televisions, embarrassed to be caught in "the money shot" and grateful that, while their really big fucking helicopter might be recognizable, they wouldn't be.
They are humble, modest men who take pride in what they do ~ but don't want to be known for it. They can't tell you about every structure they saved ~ but remember every one they didn't. They know how hard they worked to put the fires out ~ but are just as glad you don't. They are heroic ~ but don't want to be called heroes. They know that what they do is important ~ but it's not what defines them. They have spent their lives being called enigmas ~ but they aren't. Not if your paradigm is big enough to accept ordinary men who do extradorinary things for no reason other than it's their job. Who have bad days, who can be assholes, who get sick, who are sometimes moody, who are a whole hell of a lot more than Hero Pilots 90% of the time. So, maybe they are paradoxes: heroes who don't want to be heroes. But enigmas? Nope. Just really interesting, well-rounded people.
Who look damn sexy in their flightsuits.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

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