Fail better is what they say and in some sense that’s the story of my life, kind of. Sometimes I just fail and fail, and fail; but it’s mostly other peoples fault so I try not to blame myself. Despite some mistakes I, like most pilots, prefer to think of myself as a peak performer. I would almost say I’m special, but I don’t want to come across as arrogant. My actions are often affected by the responses of others and thus I like to think that my errors, bad as they may be, are turned into failures by the actions of others.

Case in point. A few years ago, pre-covid, in sunnier climbs, I was involved in an incident that was actually considered worthy of a safety investigation. We were conducting a routine approach, ILS, with a bit of a tailwind – 45 knots at 6 miles to be exact. And we weren’t really on our game. I was PM, as I was for most landings down there, and to be honest I didn’t fully assess the stability of the aircraft on landing. I said ‘continue’ at minimums which was not the correct call. The aircraft was above path and 20 knots faster and than intended. The Captain did not correct my error and as pilot flying he continued to a landing.

When we did finally land, we were past the halfway point on the runway and the Captain was mashing the brakes in panic as the red lights approached. To be fair to him he managed to get it done, but he burst a main-wheel tyre and scared the life out of the two of us.

The investigation, if that’s what you could call it, found that I didn’t utilise active pilot monitoring appropriately on final approach. That is one hundred percent correct. But the Captain landed the airplane when he knew he wasn’t stable. So yeah, I made an error, but he made it a million times worse with his own actions. I learned to never trust anyone else to do their own job. Cynical, I know.

Everyone fails at one time or another and I could list a lot of failures here, but I don’t think a single aviator has anything to learn from my mistakes. What I am 100% sure of is I don’t always learn my lessons as fast as is desirable.

I think aviation interviews are a great example of where I’ve failed and not always learned from those failures. That said you don’t always get feedback so if you don’t get the correct warning light it’s hard to make an effective assessment. Self assessment and self critique aren’t my strong suit, which may also be a contributing factor. When I did my first aviation job interview my Dad asked me questions at home in the sitting room, giving me hassle about not taking it seriously enough. I didn’t get the job. Correlation does not equal causation and all that, but he may have had a point.

I realised that like everything in aviation I needed to spend money to fix my problems, so I forked out serious cash for the guidance. Keeping in mind I’d already spent enough money to fund a local football club for 5 years to get my license, I was starting to feel like a mug. To be clear, it was my parents money, but I did feel bad asking for more.

I found a lot of the interview prep painful. Who at 22 years old, with half a college degree, can give a good answer to a competency based question? I’m sitting their with the interview guy, and he says “tell me about a time you used your leadership skills?” I’m searching my limited experience for anything at all. Finally I take a breath and say “there was this one time, at rugby camp, when I was the team captain and we were down by 2 points and I took it upon myself to do everything.” He looks at me and quietly asks what I mean by that. I elaborate and describe how “I demanded the ball from my teammates at every opportunity until I forced an opportunity to score, and I did” I offer proudly. “We won the game” I add. “Okay, that doesn’t sound like good leadership as much as selfish show boating” he replies. Then he smiles and says “you’ve got to back these answers, Logan.” I’m confused, firstly with his opinion it was selfish, because we won, and secondly with backing it. I backed it up with the win. “I don’t get the backing thing, I demonstrated I got the win. That backs up my example, no?” He sighs, as though dealing with a toddler, “background, action, conclusion, Logan. B-A-C! It’s an acronym for a structure to form your answers.” I just shake my head, “where’s the natural answer gone?” “If you want to sit on the flightdeck of any major airline you need to play the game” he retorts. “That means playing a part and acting like a professional.”

At this point I tell him I need a toilet break, and I take myself outside the room where I take a moment. I decide that this ninety minutes, which costs two hundred euros, should be taken seriously and I resolve myself to listen to the guidance. I go back in, and confirm “what do I need to do to prep these needless questions?” “You need to come up with at least 2 answers in the following competencies,” he pushes a piece of paper across the table. There’s a list of 5-6 things on the paper and I am dumb struck, not an uncommon occurrence, as I slowly read them.

“Let’s move on” he says as he takes a camera out of a bag beside his chair. He puts the camera on a small tripod on the table. “I’m going to record you answering some questions, and then we can review.” He starts firing basic questions at me about my background, my interests and my relationship to aviation. I’m knocking it out of the park. “Let’s take a look” he says. I’m not sure if this is like some sort of interactive in person art exhibit that will be shown in a museum, but I’m deeply concerned at where it’s going. And I’m right.

“Your posture is terrible, just look at this” he points to a large screen on the wall where I now see myself in HD. “You see the way your arms are pulling your shoulders forward and causing you to lean into camera?” “Can’t say I really see it to be honest” I reply. “Oh yeah? It’s very obvious and it makes you seem nervous and potentially a bit intense.” I’m stunned. “If you want to be employed by these people you need to send the right signals” he drones. “I’m not applying to the space programme” I fire back. “Next thing you’ll be telling me I need to make sure my socks are pulled up high enough that the skin on my leg can’t be seen.” “I would strongly advise you wear appropriately long socks” he says without flinching.

I feel like I’ve spent the entire day with this fella when he says “thanks for your time, Logan. I’m going to follow up with an email this evening to cover everything we’ve discussed. “Thanks for all of your help” I say, still trying to figure out where my two hundred euros are gone.

When the email arrives that evening, it’s cruelly honest with a litany of issues outlined in bold text. You’d swear he thought I didn’t want his help the way he was going on. To be fair his website said he had a 95% success rate with people getting hired, after working with him, so I review and take on board most of feedback. I do not accept there are issues with my posture and so I’m taking seventy percent of the guidance and that should get me over the line.

Despite my absolute disdain for a lot of what happened during that rather expensive ninety minute course I can’t say it didn’t help. I’ve infrequently gone back to the notes to help me and I’ve never once changed my posture. You’d have to wonder if this lad was coaching Fassbender as well, because it sure as hell seems to me like putting on a show is where it’s at. I haven’t gotten an Oscar yet and I’ve managed to ram a couple of interviews, but I’ve also been offered at least 5 jobs. It appears I’m doing an average job, which, on reflection makes me realise I am not remotely special. Maybe, I’m not one of the few. Probably just one of the many.

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