This old story should have been shared long ago. Before we get to it, allow me to introduce you to plane spotting.
Plane spotting is an obscure name for a popular hobby: watching planes land and take off. Sound simple? It is, initially. Its complexity rapidly increases, turning into a game. Variety and size is the ultimate goal; new or international airlines, new or special liveries, new, unusual, or large aircraft; the more variety, the better.
All sorts of things conspire against spotters. Tight security makes life safe for travelers but difficult for aviation geeks. Wind direction dictates your spotting location, for better or for worse. Winds aloft wreak havoc to arrival times. Weather can make all the difference. Warm and sunny is pleasant, windy and gusty is fascinating, cold and wet is miserable.
As I live less than two hours away from Canada’s busiest airport, I have been treated to some fantastic spotting. Provided the winds are right, the prime location is a Wendy’s restaurant situated near the threshold of Runway 23. A few highlights include catching Emirate’s Airbus A380, various airlines’ Boeing 787 Dreamliners, other “heavies” from across the Pond or the Pacific, and a Cathay Pacific Boeing 777 go-around on a short final approach.
Few things match the exhilaration of a massive jet roaring seventy metres overhead, the resulting rush of wind a few seconds later, and the smell of jet fuel and burnt rubber. Few things match the stimulating relaxation of chatting and waiting for the next plane to pass overhead.
Consider yourself introduced. Back to the story.
After spotting arrivals all afternoon, my friend and I moved to a runway-side location from where we could catch departures. Standing by the chain link fence, we watched aircraft whine by at full throttle, rotate, and thunder off into the darkening sky. Shortly we were joined by two others, a middle-aged man and lady, afterwards named Mr. Joanne and Joanne, respectively.
The lady commented on and questioned the purpose of the fence.
“Perhaps it’s electrified,” I suggested.
“Ooooh. What’s that?” she questioned.
The man explained, finishing with “…Joanne, Joanne, then anyone climbing over would get zapped. Shish kabob à la human body parts.”
“Ooooh.”
Mr. Joanne had a difficult relationship with his sweat pants. Gravity pulled and his girth pushed. Every few minutes, Mr. Joanne would hook his thumbs under the stretched elastic waistband and hitch his pants up around his belly button.
An aircraft lined up for take-off, and I strained my eyes to identify it. “Here comes a Lufthansa ay three forty. A three hundred,” I told my friend.
“Ooooh. What… h-how’s that?”
“Uh…” I said. How do you answer a question like that? “Lufthansa. Um. From Germany,” I finished lamely.
“Joanne, Joanne, that plane is flying to Germany.” Hitch, hitch.
“Ooooh.” Simple answer for a complicated question.
As the A340 lifted off, my friend commented on its early rotation.
“Ooooh. H-how’s that?”
“Well, it must have been light,” he replied. “Maybe it wasn’t full of people or bags. And when the aircraft is light, it uses less runway.”
“Yah, Joanne, Joanne.” Hitch, hitch. “They put all the bags at the back of the plane and then it takes off sooner.”
“Ooooh.”
In few minutes another plane accelerated down the runway, the logo light illuminating the stylized star on the tail. “Air Transat ay three ten,”
“Ooooh. H-how’s that?”
This time I was more prepared. “Ah, Air Transat. It’s probably flying to Europe.”
“Ooooh.”
But not overly prepared. I still felt relieved that my explanation satisfied the question.
A Boeing 737 roared past. “Joanne, Joanne, that’s the kind of plane we’re flying on to Punta Cana.”
“Ooooh. That’s a big plane.”
Hitch, hitch. “No, Joanne, that’s just a small plane. Really little. A big plane is the A380.” Turning to us he asked, “Did you know the A380 flies in here?”
“Yes,” I replied. “We watched it land this afternoon.”
“Oh wow,” he said. “That plane can hold 873 people! Joanne, Joanne, that’s a big plane. It has two floors. I get all my information from the internet,” he told us confidentially. “Joanne, Joanne, they have ten bathrooms on that plane.”
“Ooooh. Wooow, ten bathrooms!”
“Yes, and 873 people! And Joanne, Joanne, the bathrooms are on different floors. And the 873 people can’t go between floors.” Hitch, hitch.
“Ooooh. They must have to wait a long time.”
“There goes another 737,” my friend said.
“Joanne, Joanne, when we go to Punta Cana, we’re going on that kind of plane.”
“Ooooh. That’s a small plane, right?
“No, Joanne, Joanne, that’s a big plane. It carries 189 people!”
“Ooooh. And how many bathrooms?”
Hitch, hitch. “It only has one bathroom. Or two bathrooms. No, I think three bathrooms. But they’re all on the same floor and everyone can use them. And that plane holds 189 people. That’s huge.” Hitch, hitch. “Joanne, Joanne, that’s as many people as work at Wal-Mart!”
“Ooooh. As many people as work at Wal-Mart!”
“Joanne, Joanne…” Hitch, hitch.
