I entitled this entry “How to date a pilot” with no real idea of how to put it into action.
The title just popped up in my head during one of my marking stints at the airport. Sitting by one of the automatic doors that open into the spanking new Terminal 3 departure hall concourse, I watched as pilots of all age, ranks and sizes saunter their way to check-in. I was mostly impressed except for that one instant when I thought the young trainee wannabe was not starched properly and looked like one of my students by the end of they day.
But back to the title “How to date a pilot”. I was wondering whether to be snark and start with rule number 1: Be able to fit into an insanely figure hugging uniform, bun your hair up and ensure it sits exactly at 49.3 degrees on your head, wear either brown or blue eyeshadow assigned to you by a spiteful senior and be able to smile in an annoyingly sweet way while uttering the words “coffee or tea?”
But as a self-help, motivating, life-changing, philosophical entry (I’m hoping it’ll get published like one of those dating guru books), the conditions to which I need to adhere to begins with, identifying the problems to NOT scoring a date with some hot (well not necessarily hot) pilot who could potentially begin your jet-setting lifestyle around the world, or so you think. Unfortunately, blog entries aren’t meant to be long so I’ll keep the long story short and get on with life. =)
I’ll have you know, both my previous and current neighbour are pilots. Both seem like gregarious, cheery and generous men. So yes, in terms of credentials, I am well-versed in a pilots-are-my-neighbours kinda way. I assure you its every bit as credible as you can imagine. If you’re wondering, no, their wives don’t necessarily look like one of the girls off a catalogue magazine. They are quite ordinary and friendly people.
So perhaps Rule number 1 should begin with: Don’t over-vamp it. Perhaps beneath all the foundation and powder, they’re just looking for someone quite like you and me.
Rule number 2: Don’t idolize them. At least not in one of those jaw-dropping moments. My very very wise friend, who is also wisely stuck in grad school with a new boyfriend, reminded me that to be in love with someone is not to put them on a pedestal and worship their existence. It is merely reifying their existence as something much more unreachable then you think. You’re every bit as special (or if not more) than he is. He just gets to fly huge jet planes with hundreds of people on it around the world and that’s all there is to it.
Rule number 3: Work that smile of yours. It doesn’t need to be annoyingly sweet. Just make sure its you. Isn’t that the lesson that all dating guidebooks attempt to teach anyway, be yourself. That’s what they all end with anyway isn’t it?
There really isn’t a point to this entry other than a ‘eureka’ moment and a need to flex some typing muscles. Perhaps I’ll be inspired to write more, after all, I did consider writing a book. Now I just ned to figure some sort of theme and topic to write before I actually put down into words. Perhaps a “Idiosyncrasies of a teenager” type thing since it seems to surround my life nowadays.
