Have you ever wondered what would happen if a pilot (or co-pilot) had to go to the latrine very, very badly while in final approach and landing? Well, for starters, it’s against regulations. This pilot/BLOGger relates his first officer’s experience in such a situation…
Hilarious, in retrospect! In hindsight, yes…
I can say that because: 1) the first officer didn’t unleash a butt-grenade in his own uniform trousers while landing; and 2) I can relate to his predicament, albeit with much less at stake.
On 21 May 1998 (my birthday, no less), I had just such an experience around Dix, Nebraska, while Rich Thompson I were approaching a supercell — high-based, but nonetheless with tightening cloud-base rotation, looking like it could produce a tornado.
While awaiting storm formation, our lunch had been at the Runza in Sidney–the one on the hilltop by I-80. Now it seemed suddenly like I had the Runza. This was an emergency situation. My ass felt like Mt. Pinatubo in T-minus two-minute mode. The danger was real that I would explode all over the driver’s seat of the Meatwagon. I couldn’t stand it anymore…painful, grinding spasms…and we had to exit I-80 and find *somewhere* in a town with no open gas stations or convenience stores. Even the bar was closed.
Fortunately, I happened upon a garage, threw the Meatwagon into park, bolted straight in past the startled mechanic, said a few desperate words of explanation that I don’t even recall, then slammed the latrine door shut for an experience eerily reminiscent of that copilot. The supercell could have been dropping a big fat tornado at that moment, and I didn’t care. I had other stuff to drop.
Fortunately the supercell was not tornadic then or ever (here it was about 20 minutes later). On the way out I threw a few bucks on the mechanic’s counter and apologized for the aroma. Best money I ever spent on a restroom…
And yes, I do like Runza and have eaten at various outlets since.
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