Every single year I have to do a license proficiency check (LPC) that is overseen by the authority. For the non-aviation people reading this it’s effectively an annual test of my ability to be good at my job. The only problem is you have to rely on the other guy to perform to pass. Nearly every year I have done this test I have put my counterpart in the shade. I do not need to be modest here; I am good at what I do. However, if your sim partner is an oxygen thief you are in trouble no matter how good you are.

 

This year has been like no other; I have studied as hard as I could. I spent more time studying than further educating myself on gender pronouns. I must add that it has been hard to practice my newfound social skills in the desert. They do not give a shit about gender equality never mind gender pronouns. Trying to educate them on it would be like giving JFK an iPhone and telling him he could go on Tinder non-stop. Neither would have the social or emotional tools to maximise the opportunity presented to them.

 

But, I digress. The main problem this year was the attitude of my simulator-training partner. This guy seemed to think the sun shone right out of his Scandinavian ass and generated lunar eclipses on demand. His confidence was staggering, and that’s coming from me.

 

When we sat in for the pre-test briefing with the examiner I made sure to put my best foot forward. The Captain genuinely seemed to be going through the motions. Shit!

 

Once the examiner left the room he turned to me like as though he was Goldmember, “You musht undershtand I’ve been doingsh thish for nearly 15 yearsh. It’sh hard to give shitsh. Yesh”. As usual my brain doesn’t engage before replying, “Have you managed to pass every year”? He raises one eyebrow and smiles, “Yesh my friend, how could you not passh thish shimple tesht?”. Given he managed to incorrectly answer half the questions he had been asked by the examiner I had little faith.

 

Once the test starts I find myself correcting him consistently. I do not care about teamwork; I only care about making sure we do not fail this thing. I’m managing to maintain my composure and although he is sitting there like a cat with a bowl of fresh milk I get the distinct impression he may fuck up at any moment.

 

All of a sudden the cockpit starts to fill with dark smoke and as is procedure we don our oxygen masks – in order facilitate continued life. It’s at this point that all hell breaks loose. I’m calm as usual, but I’m not a Shaolin Monk, and I can do nothing for the waffle-eating moron beside me.

 

Our first step should be to establish crew communications and when I don’t hear a smooth “yesh” from him I figure something is up. The sim generates a lot of smoke so I can hardly see him but he is clearly struggling, he gurgles “helpsh, I do not breathesh, I do not breathesh”. I simply can’t help myself as I reply, “It’s ‘I can’t breathe’ how long have you been speaking this language man”? He just gurgles “helpsh me, pleashe”. My response is as cool as you’d expect as I tell him to “take off the mask you fool”.

 

Now, I would have said he needed the oxygen to wake him up but he had set his mask to provide emergency oxygen, which creates an overpressure of pure oxygen making it difficult to breathe out. The irony of all of this being that history’s biggest oxygen thief has been left stranded in a sea of oxygen.

 

Teamwork could not save this mess and let’s be clear here. Even if I could breathe for him, I would have let him go because aviation would be better off without him.

 

You see, I am a team player.