Dots (part 1)

Currently, I am a trainee at the Chicago Center ARTCC (Air Route Traffic Control Center) in Aurora, Illinois. Most of my friends (the non ATC type, anyways) have no idea what this entails. I talk to Evan, or Dain, or (god forbid) Pete about work and I may as well be speaking an entirely different language. I've been immersed in the world of ATC for the past 5+ years now, so some of the things I take for granted must sound like witchcraft to the uninitiated. One thing that is universal, however, is that going through training is somewhat like what Boot Camp is for a fresh military recruit. What follows is a brief look at what it's like to be a trainee at ZAU.

The main theme of being a trainee is that regardless of who you are, or what your background is, you are an idiot. Most employees of the FAA have been employed since Ronald Regan fired the previous batch of controllers back in 1981 for striking. This means that 65-70% of the workforce is over the age of 45. And, like most old people, they are all extremely set in their ways. It's their way or the highway. If you disagree with something, you best keep it to yourself because they probably don't want to hear it. Some of them can be fairly merciless at times. Coming from my family background, I have fairly thick skin. Also, playing 20 years of sports kind of conditions me for the grief I have to take at work. Most of it is fairly good-natured ribbing, and usually I can give as good as I get. There are a few folks, however, who are just furious at the world and they want you to be just as miserable as them. It's great fun working with somebody who would just as soon see your decaying body as give you the time of day. So I've got that going for me.

Another theme of training is that you fuck up. A LOT. It's just a part of the learning process, and it's inevitable that you make mistakes. Depending on your trainers, your self-esteem (or what's left of it) can take a serious beating. Listening to how much you suck every day can wear down on you eventually. And sometimes the abuse is constant, as some of the controllers are like sharks with blood in the water. Once one gets a taste of a fuckup, the rest are all over that like stink on shit. Now everybody is laughing at what the Stupid Trainee just did. Once again, I can take the abuse, as DJ is my father and I am well prepared. I'd be lying if I said there were never days where I just wanted to walk out and beat my head against a brick wall, though. Depending on your trainers, this is worse for some more than others. On days that I perform well, I feel like I can own the world. The key is having more good days than bad. It's a real roller coaster ride for your average Developmental Controller.

Every trainee is assigned a "Training Team", which is comprised of your Primary Trainer, and your Secondary trainer. This can make or break you as a newbie. I've lucked out, as both of my trainers are very good controllers. If you are assigned to a weaker controller, that controller will teach you habits that are not very good. An example: I was watching the Badger sector the other day, when "Controller X" was working. Now Controller X is known as one of the weaker controllers in my area. He was working a Skywest jet that had left Minneapolis and was putzing along at 27,000 feet in the air, bound for Cleveland. Controller X, for some unknown reason thought that this aircraft was landing at O'hare, so he descended the plane down 8,000 in preparation to land at an airport he didn't want to go to, nearly 400 miles before he needed to. Whoops! Needless to say, the sharks were sniffing the blood at that point. Just imagine if this guy was your trainer. The bad habits you would pick up could send you down the shitter at any given moment.

Training at my facility, and becoming a FPL (Full Performance Level, which means you can work by yourself) can take up to two years. TWO YEARS of taking this type of abuse. Now naturally the longer you train, the better you get, the less shit you take (in theory). You just have to survive the first parts. The job itself is the best, and I absolutely love it. It's not like if you have a shitty day, the same planes are gonna be waiting for you the next day. Tomorrow is a whole new day, with a whole new type of traffic. It's the light at the end of the tunnel for me, to be able to work by myself. Except right now, the tunnel seems like a mile long and somebody tied my shoelaces together. I know I'll get there eventually, I just have to keep hopping along. If you see me beating my head against a wall, just let me be. I'll knock myself out eventually.

History

It's a very rare thing, for one to witness history. Moments like this so rarely come along, and more often than not it's the kind of history that folks would like to forget. Tonight, however, I got to see something even rarer. Tonight the country chose a new path, one never before taken. It brings to mind one of the most famous poems ever, and I think that it applies to our country tonight:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I've never been more proud of this country.

Nostalgia 101

I love things that I used to love.


My birthday was back in June, and my brother got me the definition of The Gift That Keeps On Giving. I'd wanted this gift for ages, but for some reason I never got around to it. Butts finally came through for me, though. He got me The Essential Calvin and Hobbes. It's 3 separate volumes containing every single Calvin and Hobbes comic strip ever published by Bill Watterson. This comic strip is absolutely genius in every possible way. It appeals to people of all different ages on all different levels. When you are young, CnH is funny for the slapsticky comedy and the fantastical charachters Calvin comes up with. Now that I'm older, I can appreciate the social commentary hidden amidst the childlike wonder that is a kid and his imagination. Also, the humor is timeless, as it's not really tied to any particular period so it can't be dated.

When I was a kid, Calvin and Hobbes was my own personal thesauras. If I didn't know the meaning of a word in a strip, I would look it up so I could use it in a sentence and sound smart like the charachters in the comic. Not only did CnH encourage me to read, but it expanded my vocabulary in ways that no other (fun) book had previously done. CnH is smart, it's funny, and it's timeless, but the most important ingredient is it's heart. Bill Watterson put his life into this work, and it shines through. He's captured the innocence of childhood completely and effortlessly. Everyone can identify with Calvin, because we've all been like him at one point in our lives. I don't think it would be a stretch to say that most people out there wish they could go back to a time when their lives consisted of playing with friends (real or imaginary) and worrying (or not, if you were like me) about tomorrows math quiz. For a mere comic strip, CnH is able to connect with people in a most basic and beautiful way.

For the past hour or so, I've been sitting in my room flipping through the first volume in this wonderful series. For the strips I remember, I have a smile and a chuckle. For those I don't, more often then not I find myself laughing out loud. The happiness that this series brings to me is tinged with melancholy, as I know that I have it all. There never will be any more new strips to bring that joy to my life again. The upside of that is I can share in the wonder someday as I pass these books on to my children, and watch Calvin and Hobbes work their magic on the next generation. These books are one of the greatest gifts I've ever recieved. The least I can do is share the joy.

Cosmic Justice

So the Tampa Bay Rays are going to the world series.

I can't help but feel nostalgic about this, because the 2008 Rays forcibly remind me of the 2005 White Sox. What with their chippy play, and refusal to give in to what was undeniably a more experienced (and defending world champion) Boston Red Sox team, the Rays are something that I can root for. A team that I would NOT root for, however, was the Red Sox. 5 years ago, the BoSox were the darlings of the US, eerily similar to the Rays of this season. Refusing to yield to an overpaid and more experienced team, the Red Sox made history with an improbable comeback.

In an ironic twist, the BoSox and their fans have become what the Yankees were to them in 2004. Overpaid, over hyped, and with a fan base that to the rest of the Universe seems obnoxious and oppressive. Weird how that happens. And now, 4 years later, the Red Sox find themselves in the same position the Yankees were in. Ousted from the playoffs in game 7 of the ALCS by an inexperienced team bound for baseball glory. Here's to hoping that what happened to the Yankees after the 2004 season happens to the BoSox from here on out. Because thanks to ESPN and a bunch of asshole bandwagon fans, I'm friggin' sick of them.

How does this happen? I know that I'm not alone in saying that I was pulling pretty hard for the Red Sox back in 2004. Now I can't stand them. Is it just cosmic justice? Karma? Or is it just embedded in our culture to raise something up until it's better than we are, so then we have to tear it down? This doesn't just apply to sports players and franchises either. We do this to celebrities and politicians alike. I don't get it, but maybe that's just because it's 1:30 in the AM, and I can barely see straight. I'd still like some answers, though.

Next up for me? A RayHawk hairdo.