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Early the next morning, 28th August 1987,
as we assembled in the lobby of our hotel to check out, John materialized with
a case of the green-shakes.
A-hah,
dear reader, those fucking mussels were polluted!
Today our schedule called for something
out of the ordinary: First we had to
deadhead (fly as passengers) on an Air France flight to Orly Field, in
Paris. This wasn’t a regular stop for
SIA; they always used Charles de Gaulle Airport at Paris. Waiting for us at Orly was an SIA 747-Combi
(half passenger/half freighter) that we were to then operate to Dubai, in the
UAE.
I was
really sorry for John, dear reader. The
poor guy spent the entire day either in the men’s room or the aircraft‘s blue-room. He told me that whatever didn’t like him was
coming out both ends!
We deadheaded on a spanking, brand new
Airbus A320, a short to medium range, narrow-bodied, twin-engine jetliner
capable of carrying over 200 passengers.
I had heard of its revolutionary new cockpit layout, so when the Air
France Captain offered the cockpit to us; I jumped at the chance to ride there. The rest of my crew elected to remain in
first class, especially John, since he was close to the restroom.
What an eye-opener, dear reader! All
of the A320‘s “iron-analog“ instruments were replaced by computer monitors;
making it a “glass cockpit.“ But there
were other important features adding to the crew’s efficiency and comfort.
Let’s start with Boeing’s “Gestapo“ chair:
I’ve
labeled it so, dear reader, because after five minutes in that chair I’m ready
to sign the confession!
The backrest is no problem, however the
seat cushion is a nightmare caused by the U-shaped cut at its front and
middle. This is so one can pull the
metal shaft, attached to the control wheel, all the way back into this
slot.
Which
always struck me as a nutty-design, dear reader. For if one ever pulled the control wheel that
far back in flight – it would indicate only one thing – one has totally lost all
control of the aircraft!
Due to this U-shaped cut in the seat, the
cushion ultimately breaks down at the inside edges. Set an empty bucket on the floor upright – then
sit on it – that’s exactly what this seat cushion felt like.
Now
sit on it for nine to twelve hours. Get
the picture, dear reader?
Some were so bad, I was forced to “steal“ two
business class pillows from the passengers.
Stuffing said pillows inside this U-shaped hole, allowed “me“ battered
bum to survive a long flight!
Then there were the armrests, made out of
a hard plastic, which the pressurization would dry out and crack the skin on my
elbows, causing them to bleed! Why
couldn’t Boeing line the armrests with the same synthetic wool they used on the
rest of the seat?
Continuing my bitching, we come to my
favorite: The “Clipper Ship“ control
wheel. On average, we used the control
wheel for scarcely five minutes after take off, and usually eleven minutes at
the end of the flight, right before landing. In between these two events, the
flight was operated by the autopilot.
During
those many, many hours - between take off and landing while on autopilot – the
control wheel was my worst enemy, blocking my view of the instrument panel, and
taking up space I could really use to stretch out in. I was forever bumping it every time I hauled
out a new chart, adjusted something on the instrument panel, or attempted to
eat off a tray balanced on a pillow on my lap.
Me attempting to keep cool in the 747 cockpit. Note the wadded up newspaper.
And then there was the problem with the sun. Whenever one operates between 20,000 to 40,000 feet, in that thin atmosphere, the sun’s rays spill inside the cockpit akin to laser beams, enveloping a pilot’s body in a truly hot blanket. To combat this, Boeing supplied us with a Polaroid sun visor, roughly the size of a car’s visor. It gave one a bit of shade for the eyes, while the rest of one’s body baked. In desperation, we pilots dumped the puny visor and wadded up The Straits Times - totally blanking out the side windows with newspaper – anything to obtain shade on our bodies.
So
how did Airbus handle these problems, dear reader?
First of all, they threw away the “Clipper
Ship“ wheel – replacing it with side sticks.
These were short control sticks – mounted on each side of the cockpit –
offering the pilots fingertip-control of the aircraft, opening up plenty of leg
room space – plus unrestricted observation of the instrument panel – with
nothing to bump against, and no horseshoe-shaped hole having to be cut in the
seat cushion.
Plus they had designed an actual desktop –
sliding out from underneath the instrument panel – that could be tilted to hold
all of the maps and approach plates. No
more last minute rummaging in ones‘ flight case for that all important
chart. It could also be locked in a
level position to hold our food trays.
This was an issue in the Boeing cockpit, for
the flight attendant had to bring a pillow, along with our food tray. Resting the pillow on our laps, then the tray
on top of it, gave us the proper elevation, except it forced us to balance the
tray and fight for space with the control wheel, as we attempted to eat. Similar to a juggling clown at the circus,
when we hit rough air!
What
about the problem with the sun, dear reader?
The French didn’t use wadded up newspaper
on their A320, instead they employed space-age, one-way gold blinds – which
pulled down and fit the window – totally blocking out the sun’s rays. They shaded the pilot’s body, while allowing
the pilot to still look outside – like a one-way mirror - for air traffic.
This
is how a jetliner‘s cockpit should be constructed!
Why
Boeing couldn’t implement these innovations is beyond me, dear reader. Years in the future Delta Airlines would eventually
dump Boeing in favor of Airbus. I wonder
if complaining Delta pilots had anything to do with this?
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