“I work at the airport for United Airlines. I am a mechanic there.” The guards nodded, and as he got his papers back, they motioned him on. As Michael slowly drove the car away, he kept an eye on them in the rear view mirror.
As he drove down Interstate 10, he absently listened to the satellite radio; he had given up on local radio long ago because all they did was praise the ‘Cause’, and sing the praises of Moonbeam. Michael noticed the lack of traffic on the interstate, and he mused, Well that is one way to kill the infamous gridlock, remembering when LA was famous for that. He turned onto Interstate 405, finishing the run to the airport, where he parked in the employee lot and caught the rattle-trap shuttle bus to his work area on the concourse at LAX.
Michael reported to his crew leader for his briefing and work assignments, then headed to his toolbox to get his bag of tools and toolbelt. Climbing into the battered Ford Ranger that served as his maintenance vehicle, he headed to the planes that had landed and required a checkout before they could fly again.
He looked at his list, saw his first plane was parked at the concourse and was already positioned in the Jetway. Michael saw the truck used by the cleaning crews at the rear of the plane and the moving stairs already in place. He parked in the safe area, and headed around the front of the plane. He climbed the ladder to the Jetway, swiped his badge at the door, and headed to the 767 that was his first patient of the day.
Michael stepped in the airplane and noticed the cleaning crew was freshening the airplane up for the next flight, working from the rear to the front. Michael headed to the forward galley, opened a couple of the doors and grabbed the bags of coffee that had been left. Stashing them in one of his cargo pockets of his uniform, he headed to the cockpit to read the log book, and see if the pilot had written anything up. As he read, he was pleased to see that there weren’t any crap write-ups, as some of the pilots are wont to do, just to be dicks to the maintenance crews.
He put the log book back on top of the instrument panel, and headed back to the galley to see if there was something that he could scrounge to eat on while he did the check. Michael grabbed some biscotti cookies before he headed back to the Jetway and down to the tarmac to do his check.
Michael walked down the ladder and looked around, noticing how quiet the airport was, he mumbled, “Damn, I remembered when this place was noisy as hell from all the planes taking off and landing.” He shook his head, “The economic policies of Moonbeam strike again,” he looked around to make sure that he wasn’t overheard. In Moonbeam’s Cali, snitches abounded.
He muttered to himself, “Jeez these guys must have taken their lessons from the old East German Stasi where one in seven were informers.” He walked around the airplane, checking the control surfaces, tires, brakes, and other things that the daily checks called for. He looked around saw the sun and the nice weather that Cali, formerly California, was known for, remembering that was what called him out here, after his hitch in the Army was finished in the early 90’s.
Michael finished walking around the airplane and headed back to the Jetway. As he walked back into the cockpit, he saw the pilot had arrived. He recognized him as one the experienced hands that made the pilot and maintenance relationship a pleasure.
The pilot smiled, “Hey, Michael,” as he extended his hand.
Michael accepted the handshake, “Hey Dave, you breaking my airplane again?” He chuckled as he shook the pilot’s hand.
“You see anything fall off the airplane yet?”
Michael shook his head “Nah, she’ll fly, she is a good ship.” Dave reached into the cockpit to grab the logbook, and handed it to Michael, who slid open one of the platforms that the flight attendants used, opened the logbook to the proper space, filled in the spaces, and signed off the airworthiness release. Closing the book and handed it back to Dave, who stowed it next to the Jeppesen case in the cockpit.
Dave turned to him, “You still like it here?”
Michael glanced around to make sure that the cleaning crew was not near them to overhear and stated, “I have put in for a transfer to anywhere in the United States to get out of here, but I only have twenty-five years of seniority and that ain’t enough, in the bid system. Apparently everyone else wants to get out of the ‘workers’ paradise’.” He shook his head and continued, “California used to be a wonderful place the people, the weather; this place was awesome but Cali is a Third-World craphole. My wife already lost her job. She used to work with one of the financial companies that bailed, due to the pie in the sky edicts from Moonbeam’s people coming hard and heavy, in the name of social justice. Now she stays home, and is scared to go out for fear of being targeted by a mob. I am glad that our son, Ryan, is in the Southwest. He’s stationed at Fort Hood, he doesn’t care for the post, and there is a lot of B.S., but he loves the freedom that Texas has. He’s pushing for me and his mom to get out and move there.”
Dave nodded, “Take it for what it is worth, you need to get out sooner than later, it will get worse.” Michael automatically scanned around to make sure that the cleaners were not close enough to hear them and drop a dime on him. Dave continued, “You know we have our own network, and the headshed has already heard more stuff is coming down from Sacramento, including forcing the company to pay our people in Callors at the official exchange rate.”
Michael shook his head, “That crap is worthless, like rubles after the Soviet Union went belly up. What keeps us going with the high rate of inflation is that I get paid in American dollars. If they force me to get script instead, that will kill us.” Dave nodded in agreement, as Michael glanced toward the back of the airplane. He could hear the Mexican street music blaring from the aft galley, as the crew pillaged the remaining food and drink items stored there. He knew any company complaint would be worthless, these days; it was the cost of doing business in Cali.
Dave glanced around, and then continued, “I am serious, you need to get out sooner, rather than later, I’ve also heard rumblings that the company may pull out of the Cali routes. The money isn’t there like it used to be, we fly in under capacity, and fly out full, people are leaving and after a while the money we get from people leaving will not cover our costs.”
Michael nodded in agreement, “Thanks for the info.” He shook the pilot’s hand, and Dave disappeared into the cockpit to start the preflight checks. As Michael waited for the passengers to clear out, he heard weeping on the Jetway as a man, wife, and their teenage daughter got on the airplane. They were being led by one of the flight attendants who also was weeping a bit. She got them to their seats in first class and gave the girl and the mom a blanket from the overhead bin. Michael knew her as one of the regular attendants that always smiled and chatted with the mechanics.
She walked over to get something to drink, and Michael motioned her over, “What’s up, Emily?”
She shook her head, and said in a low voice, “They got pulled out for extra screening by security. Apparently, the mom told security that they were moving out of Cali. They had their stuff stolen, and the daughter was sexually assaulted. Their carryon luggage is gone, it vanished, and nobody will tell them where it is. They might find it if they are willing to wait, but they might miss their flight. Well, the Dad told them, “No, it was okay, they want to get out of Cali real bad.”
The flight attendant got some drinks, and smiled sadly at Michael, “I don’t want to fly into Cali anymore; I see the same kind of thing every time I fly in and it breaks my heart.”
Michael patted her on the shoulder, “You keep doing what you are doing, and we will be alright. You’re a good person, Emily.”