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flewellynNormally, I don't blog much about what I do at work. This is not because it is boring to me, but because, in all likelihood, it would be rather boring to you, my readers (all two of you). I enjoy my job, I love working on the puzzles I solve, but they don't make for interesting reading. "Today, I learned how to find the intersections of one vector layer with a set of shapes from another layer in PostGIS! Go me!" Yes, go me indeed, but A) that was LAST week, and B) you probably don't care that much. It may be the best thing since sex to me (yeah right), but I doubt most of you would even care to try and understand what I was talking about.
So, normally, not much to say about work. Today, though, something happened which actually falls into the "amusing to general audiences" category, subheading "schadenfreude". You see, I work in a building which used to be an airport; it's still on the airport grounds, but it no longer serves as the terminal, Fargo's Hector airport now having a nice, shiny new terminal. This building is old enough that the downstairs bathrooms have signs which say "Gentlemen" and "Ladies", and bear icons with wide-brimmed hats and beehive hairdos, respectively. We are talking about a building old enough to have those plastic bucket seats in varying colors of burnt orange, pale yellow, and dark brown which, for some reason, people in the 60's thought looked good (I would blame the drugs, but this is Fargo). The building still serves as the fuelling station for cargo jets and private planes, as well as housing the offices of the FAA, an aviation insurance company, the customs bureau, and our company. And we get planes of all types coming in.
Normally, though, their pilots know what to do when going back out.
This morning, the pilot of a Canadian cargo jet was preparing to leave after refuelling. The pilot, who really really really should have known better, decided to turn towards the runway while still close to the building, pointing his engines directly at the outer wall, and gunned the engine.
Well. There are certain procedures that must be followed when a pilot is taxiing onto the runway, especially after parking right next to a building; I am no expert at aviation, but I feel very confident in asserting that "aim your jets at the wall and floor it" is not one of them. And for good reason; the engine exhaust blew out several windows on the ground floor. Oops.
Fortunately, these were windows on the outside of the double doors leading onto the airfield, otherwise the ground floor would have had the treat of being exposed to Fargo's weather in November, after the Snow Demons decide to move in and start kicking serious ass. Fargo winters are nothing to sneeze at, although prolonged exposure will make you sneeze a great deal, and possibly cause your arms to fall off and shatter if you aren't careful.
Just a guess, but I think this one will be coming out of the pilot's paycheck. Assuming he gets another one.
So, normally, not much to say about work. Today, though, something happened which actually falls into the "amusing to general audiences" category, subheading "schadenfreude". You see, I work in a building which used to be an airport; it's still on the airport grounds, but it no longer serves as the terminal, Fargo's Hector airport now having a nice, shiny new terminal. This building is old enough that the downstairs bathrooms have signs which say "Gentlemen" and "Ladies", and bear icons with wide-brimmed hats and beehive hairdos, respectively. We are talking about a building old enough to have those plastic bucket seats in varying colors of burnt orange, pale yellow, and dark brown which, for some reason, people in the 60's thought looked good (I would blame the drugs, but this is Fargo). The building still serves as the fuelling station for cargo jets and private planes, as well as housing the offices of the FAA, an aviation insurance company, the customs bureau, and our company. And we get planes of all types coming in.
Normally, though, their pilots know what to do when going back out.
This morning, the pilot of a Canadian cargo jet was preparing to leave after refuelling. The pilot, who really really really should have known better, decided to turn towards the runway while still close to the building, pointing his engines directly at the outer wall, and gunned the engine.
Well. There are certain procedures that must be followed when a pilot is taxiing onto the runway, especially after parking right next to a building; I am no expert at aviation, but I feel very confident in asserting that "aim your jets at the wall and floor it" is not one of them. And for good reason; the engine exhaust blew out several windows on the ground floor. Oops.
Fortunately, these were windows on the outside of the double doors leading onto the airfield, otherwise the ground floor would have had the treat of being exposed to Fargo's weather in November, after the Snow Demons decide to move in and start kicking serious ass. Fargo winters are nothing to sneeze at, although prolonged exposure will make you sneeze a great deal, and possibly cause your arms to fall off and shatter if you aren't careful.
Just a guess, but I think this one will be coming out of the pilot's paycheck. Assuming he gets another one.
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Date: 2005-11-17 12:00 am (UTC)Bleah to that. I dislike heat far more than cold. I am a cold-weather person. After all, in cold weather you can put more clothes on. When it's hot...there's only so much you can take off, even if you're alone in your house. Can't take off your skin, ya know.
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Date: 2005-11-17 01:09 am (UTC)and i hate clothes so i'd much rather be nekkid than have a million layers of clothing on.
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Date: 2005-11-17 01:43 am (UTC)