Emily dabbed her eyes, then gave Michael a hug, picked up the drinks, and headed to the passengers. Michael looked down the aisle and saw that the cleaning crew was disembarking from the rear of the airplane, Michael leaned into the cockpit, waved at Dave, and stepped onto the Jetway, down the stairs to his truck, and headed off to visit the next plane on his list.
After checking several planes, he noticed it was almost lunch time, and he headed to the area at the concourse where the lead’s office, conference room and break room were located. The mechanics tended to congregate there to get any updates while they grabbed lunch.
He walked into the break room, pulled out some munchies he had snagged from a galley of a willing Airbus FA, and plopped in front of a computer to do his daily read and signs, or as the crew called it “click and forget”. He scanned his company emails, saw a bunch of normal company news, or ‘feel good fluff’. Then he saw a small paragraph from the CEO talking about route realignments coming soon. He felt a small ball of fear in the pit of his stomach. He finished wading through his emails, not seeing a response to his bids for anywhere out of Cali. Finishing his small lunch, he stuck his head in the lead’s office, “Headed back to work boss.”
The lead looked up from his computer, “What, you work? After twenty-five years, you finally decided to give the company some work? What the hell happened? Aliens transmogrify your brain?”
Michael chuckled, “You know me boss, trying to save the airline, one card at a time, one check at a time, and one plane at a time.”
The lead choked back laughter, “Jeez that is a lot of bullcrap to dump on your hardworking lead at this time in the day. Now scram before I have you dumping Lav trucks.”
Michael smiled as he headed back out to his truck to continue the daily checks queued up on his work tablet.
He got to a Boeing 737 that was next on his list and looked at the brakes and tires, as was his habit, before heading to the stairs to the Jetway. He grumbled as he saw that the front tire and brakes were ‘at limits’. He used his work tablet to order replacements from stores, and have them sent to the airplane’s location. He quickly did his walk around, went up the Jetway, and went to the cockpit to check the logbook for any other surprises. There weren’t any, so he quickly headed down the Jetway to get the stuff to change a tire. Since there was a shortage of people, it meant that he would be changing the tire and brakes by himself. He used his truck to pull the scissor jack out of its cubbyhole, and attached the brake cylinder jig to the back of the jack. He then headed back to the airplane.
He quickly got the jack in position, got his tool-box out of the back of the truck, ran an air hose from the fixture on the wall, and waited for the parts runner to bring the tire and brakes. He pulled out his phone and saw on CNN, the only network that seemed to work in Cali, that Moonbeam was talking about how more economic revenue would be collected, ensuring the great State of Cali would continue to be both a beacon of hope for all peoples of all genders, all races, while making sure that everyone is free from want. Michael shook his head, “Lenin would have approved that speech.”
He saw the parts truck drive up with the tire and brakes, and quickly checked to make sure that they matched the part numbers he called for. He quickly jacked the airplane up until the wheel was off the ground, then popped the beauty cap off, and moved it out of the way. He started removing the bolts, spacers, and rings that held the tire on the axle then he wiggled the tire off and moved it away from the airplane. He popped the air valve, heard the nitrogen hissing out, and he started working on the brakes, getting them ready to slide off.
Grabbing the brake cylinder jig, he lifted the brake assembly off the axle, and moved the fixture off to one side. Moving a piece of cardboard so the brake cylinder wouldn’t touch the ground, he lowered it until the brake cylinder was flush with the cardboard. Unwrapping the chain from the brake cylinder, he pushed it over to the box that had the new brake assembly. Using the jig to lift the brake assembly out of the box, he pushed it over to the axle, and installed it.
Looking at his watch, he realized that the airplane’s ready time was approaching. Michael finished safety wiring the brake assembly, then grabbed the new tire, and wrestled it into place. He finished installing it, and rolled the old tire into the designated location for pickup. He used the jig to grab the old brake assembly and place it in the box next to the old tire.
Michael saw the pilot and copilot starting their walk around, and he waved at them as he grabbed the hydraulic cart to service the plane. He finished the servicing and headed to the cockpit to get the logbook, adding in the tire and brakes change and signed off on the airworthiness release. He overheard both pilots talking about the new tax plan spun by Moonbeam and the fact that it will further drive business away from Cali. He nodded to them as he headed to the stairs and his truck to take some Advil for the muscle pains and ache that he knew were sure to come after his exercise.
Four hours later, after stepping off the shuttlebus, Michael headed slowly to his car. He cranked up the Focus after putting his backpack behind the seat, and headed home. He looked at the gas gauge and grimaced, having to stop at dusk at the local gas station near the house was dicey since the night-life was waking up, hungry for the first prey of the evening. Michael got off I-10 and headed to a gas station near the expressway. It was lit, which was a plus. He parked at a pump, headed inside to pay the attendant for the fuel with Callors, and grab a six-pack of beer from the cooler. He looked at the cooler, and the only selection was Mexican beer. He grimaced and grabbed a six-pack of Bohemia Lager, a Mexican beer with a German flair.
As he told the attendant how much gas he was buying, he asked, “What happened to the other kinds of beer?”
The attendant shrugged, “They don’t want to pay the extra taxes to be in this state.” Michael showed the attendant the six-pack he was getting and laid it on the counter. The attendant shrugged again, “Well, the distributor told me that the new taxes only go on the Anglo beer.”
Michael nodded, “Okay, makes sense, those people don’t want to be here in this great state, it is their loss.” He paid for the purchase and headed to his car, put the beer in the back, then proceeded to pump his gas. He glanced at the attendant who was looking at him, and Michael was sure getting his tag number to make a report to the local watch captain.
Finally getting home, Michael drove into his neighborhood, and saw that the power was off—the entire neighborhood was dark. He drove down his street, past the blackened shell of his neighbor’s house, parked in his driveway. He unlocked the garage door, went to turn on the light, and shook his head, “Oh yeah, no power.”
He used the headlights to park in the garage, and closed and locked the door behind him. He reached behind the driver’s seat, grabbed the six pack of beer and his backpack that had dinner in it, pulled out two bottles, and quickly put the others in the fridge, so whatever was cold, would stay cold. He got the extra candle out, and lit it from a lighter that they kept in the drawer in the kitchen. Walking into the living room, he saw his wife reading a book in the wingback chair that was a gift from her mom a long time ago. He walked over, handed her a beer, and she smiled as he reached down and kissed her. “I got some dinner.”
“Not from the market?”
He took a pull of beer, “Airplane. Who would have ever though that airplane food would have a better variety than what is available in the store?”
Myra smiled that smile that captivated him so many years ago, and he headed to the kitchen to get a couple of plates. Dividing the two meals, compliments of the flight attendant in the first class galley of the 777 that was heading to Tokyo just before he got off work.