Thursday, April 12, 2012

Ernie’s pre-flight ritual was to sit in his old brown Chevy Nomad parked under the bridge and eat a breakfast.  He loved the car because the driver’s seat had molded itself over the years to conform perfectly to the shape of his ass, and so was even more comfortable than his La-Z-Boy at home.  The car was not reliable.  He hated repairing it, and it had cost him a fortune over the last 30 years.  He never did any more work than he had to, and he wasn’t aware of the idea that doing periodic preventative maintenance would probably have saved him a great deal of headache and cash.  This was ironic because, as a pilot, he could see daily the scurrying of airplane technicians and mechanics doing exactly that type of preventative work to make sure his plane didn’t drop out of the sky.  He often considered ridding himself of the beater and buying something more modern and sensible.  But his routine was more important.  Watching the water, the barges, the birds, eating his everything bagel with salmon cream cheese, sitting in this perfectly shaped throne, was so satisfying and calming that he couldn’t get himself to change a  thing.  

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