Stinky Tail Feathers

Copyright © 2013 by J.L. Vaughan

All rights reserved. This article may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author.

*By J. L. Vaughan

As pilots, more specifically corporate pilots, the notion of “a routine” has long since departed from our expectations. We grow accustomed to destinations that consist of wherever we might be asked to go, passenger list that are full of whoever feels like flying that day and departure times that hinge on whenever our passengers decide they want to leave. The following story is not a normal occurrence, but “normal” never tends to be our thing anyway.

On a Tuesday Roger and I received a phone call.  Apparently someone needed a piece of machinery up in Alaska, us being based in Arlington, a small town in Washington State.  Roger and I had flights scheduled all day Tuesday, but that was put to a hault and we were to drop everything and head up north to Ketchikan. 

Roger and I ditched our passengers that we had been waiting for in Chehalis, and took off for Ketchikan after a quick stop in Seattle(Boeing Field) for the required device.  A half hour into our flight Roger had me take over flying and went to the back of the airplane. He had some business to attend to, involving some digested teriyaki, the meal we’d eaten the day before, in the onboard lavoratory.  So, barring a floater in the AvToilet, we continued to Ketchikan without a problem.  As we neared our destination I pointed out to Roger that Ketchikan had the facilities to take care of “blind eels,” seeing’s how we now had one in the little blue aquarium in the very rear of the aircraft, but he decided to wait until we were back at our home base.  The two of us landed, dropped off the desired piece of equipment to a thankful party in Ketchikan and headed back south. Nearing Arlington, our home base, I pointed out the aforementioned brown trout swimming in the back. Roger told me he would take care of it and I decided to let him, seeing’s how his crap was, quite literally, his own business. 

The next morning we were tasked with flying passengers to Boeing Field, landing not ten minutes after El Presidente Obama left Seattle. They had the airport closed to all air traffic till he left, of course.  Enroute I made mention of Roger’s “growler” from the day before, thanking him for pulling that duty, to which he replied we still were harboring his snickers bar in the back, he had forgotten. For the rest of the flight I tried my best not to make eye contact with the passengers riding in the back, and pointed out to Roger that Boeing Field had services to deport our unwanted guest now ripely stewing in the rear cabin. Roger told me not to worry, he would take care of it when we got back to Arlington, making mention of how well it would work in stimulating the growth of his flower bed. I asked him to never let me smell his roses and we landed in Seattle.  Half the day our airplane sat in the hot summer sun of Boeing Fields ramp before we flew back to Arlington.

On our next flight, now Wednesday morning, we were tasked with flying to Chehalis which was one of our usual stops. Then would come a stop in Arlington, then back to Seattle’s Boeing Field.   On our way to Boeing Field I pointed out how much nicer it smelt in the aircraft.  Roger came back wondering why I said that, seeing’s how our toilet orphan was still riding coach; he had forgotten to empty our holding tank once again.  I tried not to bring up the fact that I just admitted his crap didn’t stink, and asked if we should ask the fine young gentlemen at Boeing Field to dispose of his scuba diver in the rear. Once again he alluded to his flower bed and that he would take care of it, assuring me he wouldn’t forget this time.  After a short stint at Boeing Field, we brought our new passengers back to Arlington. Here we would sit for a good four hours before traveling south to Chehalis picking up the passengers we had previously left that morning. I made use of the time to wash the airplane’s exterior and Roger decided a nap would be the best use of his time. After cleaning the plane I thought I might help out Roger and rid us once and for all of this rectum warrior we had traveling with us. 

The toilet system in that aircraft is a two part system. Hidden beneath one of its seats is a bowl, for obvious reasons, connected to a holding tank directly below in a small cabinet.  Idealy all matter is drained into the holding tank by blue fluid (not blue Gatorade) through a valve in the holding tanks center. A return valve drains blue fluid from the tank back to the bowl, a kind of recyclable system.  This being the make-up, it is imperative to check the contents of the bowl, making sure it is all drained to the lower tank prior to removal of the holding tank. 

Premature removal in this case would leave all fluid in the bowl left to flow freely in the cabinet and down to the aircraft cabin floor. So prior to pulling the tank I lifted the lid to find a light brown liquid in the bowl and a wafting of intolerable scents(remember we are at Thursday from a Tuesday departure).  I turned on the power and pushed the little black button in an attempt to flush the bowls contents into the tank. To my surprise a darker colored brown fluid rush in from the sides, the fermented contents of the tank now reinserted into the bowl.  I felt my head begin to swim as I grew faint from the aroma beckoning from the now even more full bowl, the contents of the tank was near unbearable. I decided it best to leave all contents for that of its maker. I quickly put down the seat to keep the fumes from permeating the aircraft and walked away doing my best to keep from passing out. I sent a text to Roger letting him know I would leave the rancid mess for his own hands(and nose).  

I went about my free hour, making a quick run to the store before returning to the airport, I intended to show up as near to our departure time as I could, allowing Roger ample time to hopefully take care of his mess without my presence. As I pulled into my parking spot Roger was just getting out of his vehicle, he had arrived mere moments before. I decided to take the time to rib Roger about his handiwork still in the aircraft. A story involving a brown mist coming from the toilet just before a small creature surfaced amongst the fluid may have been exaggerated on my behalf, but I felt it necessary to get the point of the smell across. I stayed in the office to keep my distance, watching from afar as Roger walked the steps of the aircraft to finally once and for all remove us of this ever more daunting task. With only his dangling feet visible from under the aircraft, me being on the other side of the aircraft, I wondered how Roger intended to drain the bowl with his side turned to the toilet, that was just inside the door and now to his left. Then with horror I realized what he was about to do. I ran from the office but it was too late, as I neared the aircraft Roger let out a blustering of four letter words (some of them I found were surprisingly appropriate for the moment). Rounding the rear of the airplane I asked a question I already knew the answer too. “You didn’t pull the tank before checking the bowl did you?”  The only answer I got was the same appropriate four letter word, and a frantic call to “get the shopvac quick!” Now at the door, I watched as a thin brown ooze ran down the near pristine blue carpet just inside the door.  The stench while standing beside the airplane was horrid. Roger, whose face was mere inches from the growing pool attempting to stop the brown river’s progression had to have nearly been incapacitated.  As Roger went to work with the vacuum I searched the hanger for every cleaning substance in sight. 

All manner of lemon scented, stain removers and cleaners were applied to attempt to undo the damages. Inside of twenty-five minutes we had done our best to clean the affected area. While the lake of “ewe” was now gone, the smell remained and we still had passengers to pick up in Chehalis. With multiple cleansings in the manner of minutes we had to bite the bullet. After a short period with all doors and windows open to air our aircraft out we mounted up to (after thorough hand cleaning of course) depart for Chehalis. Upon landing at our destination and once the engines were shut down I v-lined for the door, making no attempt to hide the reasons why. Roger doing his best to pretend nothing was arye. As they arrived, our passengers continued with their usual chatter as they began loading into the aircraft, but upon taking their seats became unusually quiet. We did not inquire as they didn’t also of us, and we promptly flew them back to Arlington, where the following day a carpet was removed from an aircraft and  was sent out to be thoroughly cleaned.

*The above is fictional with some level of truth in, with and under it.  At what level fiction takes over reality and whether this has its basis with the authors own situation or one that he may have heard via other parties is for only the author to know.  The author felt the need to write it in first person in order to give the story the needed effect for the sake of the reader.