Bustleburg Gets the Best People, the Most Bigly Qualified

I’ve been watching an amazing show called Worst Place to Be a Pilot about low-hour British pilots flying routes to remote airstrips in Indonesia, often hoping to earn safer jobs in the West. Possible threats went from mountain terrain to volcanic plumes to cannibalism. More dangerous, however, was an alarmingly bumbling trainee who inspired the following scene from Bustleburg “International” Airport…

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My sister, Mabel, and I were told the airline’s big plane had a malfunction, so they’d bring out their little plane. Mabel is an aviation buff.

“Look, Muriel. Their little plane is a Cessna Caravan. It’s hugely popular. I believe it seats twelve.”

“Actually, that’s our big plane,” said a uniformed man on our right. Well, technically a man, but he seemed barely old enough to shave. “I’m your pilot, Ned Blathers.” Ned had an English accent. He pointed back to the tarmac. “Here comes your aircraft.” My stomach knotted as something that looked like a winged lawn mower rolled into view.

Mabel’s eyes widened, but not at the airplane. “Weren’t you on that reality show, The Worst Pilots?”

Ned blanched. “Em, actually, it was The Worst Area to Be a Pilot. We weren’t bad...necessarily. It was the weather, the runways—”

“But you were the trainee the flight instructor kept hitting upside the head, weren’t you? Telling you to look out the window? To be aware of your surroundings? Telling you not to text your girlfriend when behind the controls?”

I felt faint.

“Text my girlfriend? Ha ha, no. I didn't have data in the jungles of Papua. I was merely taking a picture of my shoes.”

“I remember you saying you’d hoped to get a job somewhere else. So congratulations!”

“Ah, well, that airline’s entire fleet lost its airworthiness certificate. So I tried finding work in the Congo. Then crop dusting in El Salvador. No luck. But I’m good enough for Bustleburg!”

“Isn’t this going to be an adventure, Muriel? How exciting,” Mabel gushed. Good grief. She so often missed the obvious. Especially when it was dangerous to miss it.

“You know, either my doctor or my horoscope told me not to fly,” I said. “We’ll have to take the bus. So sorry, Mr. Blathers. Come along, Mabel…”

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Hey! The book comes out on July 7th in ebook and July 31st in print!