Coffee Chronicles ...Happy Retirement, You Big Quitter!

Hey Chroniclers!

As many of you already know, I am a “tax widower.” The HB became a tax preparer more than twenty years ago when she looked at our then-bespectacled tax guy with a slight hint of suspicion and thought to herself, “Oh, c'mon! How hard is this really?”

After going through the grueling training and yearly testing that becoming a licensed tax preparer requires, the HB came to realize the following: first, it is a little more complicated than the times tables that her third-grade teacher at Our Lady of the Intrepid Hope of St. Ambrose, Sister Mary Esther, grilled her with; and second, she likes numbers a whole lot more than she likes me.

Anyway, this means that she is only around me for about seven minutes a day, which leaves me with absolutely no material to share with you about her in the Chronicles.

Yesterday, I took a brief ride over to KCNO, which is Chino airport for you people out there who are less experienced with airport pneumonics than us aerophiles. Yup, that's a big word. It basically means that I can't help but look up whenever I hear an airplane or helicopter overhead. I want to know where they came from and where they're headed. Commander McCroc calls them my squirrels.

Back to Chino: I received a coveted invite to the retirement celebration of Captain Carmen San Diego. There was a democratic vote, and I made the cut by not much more than the skin of my teeth. The vote was 11-1 to exclude me, but the sole vote in my favor was from Karla Aryan. Everyone loves Karla, and nobody likes Your Hero. Thanks for the thumbs up, Karla!

It all started when Mark St Amant voted me off the island. Mark is a big fan of the Survivor franchise and said that it was time to start shedding dead weight. I thought I'd become the first member of the jury, but I've been waiting for other members to join me off-stage for seven years. It seems that I'm the only one to have my torch snuffed so far.

I'm pretty sure that the final nail in my proverbial coffin, and a dead giveaway that I was a pilot impersonator rather than an actual aviator, was my continual reference to the altimeter as that “height thingee.”

Anyway, word on the street was that Captain Carmen’s “retirement” was really Team Brown catching on to the fact that he'd spent more time in a Southwest jumpseat and those comfy Barcaloungers in the ready room than moving Amazon boxes around the contiguous lower 48.

I have Captain Bunny trying to chase down the rumor that Captain Carmen was under investigation for hazing all the new FOs (first officers). He had them run all over the airport in search of a left-handed coffee stirrer for his iced teas, the very same refreshments that he insisted be chilled to a frosty 36°F. I have personally heard him refuse a flight to Fresno because there was no Sprite in his catered box lunch.

It was good to see all my old pals again, and I even made a new friend with a delusional Lions fan who insists that Barry Sanders will make a comeback next year just so that his favorite team will not only make an appearance in Super Bowl LX in February but also win the championship. He only sat beside me briefly until two gentlemen in white coats appeared. He insisted that they were his Uber drivers, but has anyone ever known rideshare drivers to move about in white vans with the handles on the back door removed? Not to worry, Mike, I’ll see about getting that nail file baked into a German chocolate cake you asked for on visiting day.

Drink ‘em if you got ‘em!

#coffeehousechronicles