Here is a story from my newest coauthor, the lovely Ms. Heidi Axum:
You would think with all the talking pilots do, that they'd be better at communicating. I'm not a pilot, but I am a frequent flyer with my husband at the controls. In fact, our first date was 16 years ago when he flew me over Louisiana's bayous at sunset. I've been flying with him ever since. 99% of those hours in the air have been uneventful—just pleasurable sightseeing over our vast country. However, our flight on June 28, 2018 made the hair on my arms stand up!
We were cruising at 6,500 feet over Alabama, heading west toward California. I was looking below at the stunning landscape, basking in the wonder of flight, and thinking how lucky I was to get a bird's eye view from our Cessna Cardinal. My husband had the soundtrack of the Hollywood movie, Flyboys, playing softly in the background of our headsets, which elevated this experience. My emotions swirled as a full orchestra of strings and horns accompanied our plane's dance around clusters of puffy white clouds. Perfection was suddenly interrupted by four little words uttered by my husband.
"We're out of gas," he said matter-of-fact.
My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach. "What?" I screamed.
"That's the name of the song," he calmly replied, still looking straight ahead.
I never did get my perfect moment back, but I seized that opportunity to remind my husband about passenger comfort, and the importance of providing context when making such outlandish statements in an airplane.