Sometimes humor spontaneously seeps into an examiner/applicant relationship. As I reviewed one private pilot applicant's logbook, he told me how careful he was to make sure that his number of landings matched the number of takeoffs. Another applicant asked me why I never became an airline pilot. After I answered, my questioner nodded sagely, saying "Being an airline pilot would be great if it wasn't for all those trips." How could I argue? Still another applicant, an airline hopeful, said that he wanted "...to fly the heavies soon because I have five kids. I figure they'd love the slides." Imagine five children leaping down the emergency slides as an amazed maintenance chief looks on.
Examiners learn a lot about applicants. Some, like one memorable instrument flight instructor applicant, share their personal philosophies. This soon-to-be CFII said, "Until I became a pilot, my motto was 'Never trouble trouble until trouble troubles you.' Now I look for it." Mmmm. One of the great pleasures for a pilot examiner can be interacting with international students. One such student's application form listed only Mexico as his birthplace. Dutifully I asked, "Where in Mexico were you born?" How lightly he said, "Parahgaricutirimicuaro."
Oral testing opens broad avenues for humor. One candidate explained to me quite seriously that, "Flying isn't dangerous...crashing is." A commercial pilot applicant, discussing cross-country flight planning, noted that "any attempt to stretch your fuel automatically increases the headwind." Discussing over-the-counter medications by mentioning a hypothetical cough, my applicant chimed in, "It's not the cough that carries you off, it's the coffin they carry you off in." Another medical discussion gleaned this gem: "Fatigue and insomnia both require good sleep habits."
Sometimes attempts at lightening a situation can bomb, as mine occasionally do. One fellow was judgment-day serious during the oral exam when, to relieve some stress, I mentioned that pilots learn from others' mistakes because none of us lives long enough to make them all. He stared at me unblinking and uncomprehending. Oh, well, I tried.
My applicants sometimes enjoy the fact that I teach aviation history, coming to the test with interesting tidbits of history. For example, one applicant explained to me that "aviation today is still the same as it was back in the 1920s, or even later." Yes, in some respects that would be true! Another, discussing the reliability of aircraft engines, noted that in aviation's painful first decade, "On average, a pilot's engine would quit three or four times per flight." I, for one, would like to know how they managed that. Another applicant, explaining to me the private pilot's perspective of VOR navigation, pointed to several VOR stations on his sectional chart. He explained how Victor airways appeared on sectional charts and pointed out one that passed over a nondirectional beacon, or NDB. Anxious to show the depth of his knowledge, he slightly misquoted the Aeronautical Information Manual as he stated, "There used to be colored airways that used NDB and four-course ranges. They no longer exist, but are still used in Alaska and Canada." Governments are powerful, but how do they do that?
Walk-around and cockpit inspections have their moments, too. A private pilot applicant, feeling for loose- ness in the exhaust stack, quipped, "I find if I inspect this too much I get exhausted." What else could I reply but "You too?" A commercial applicant preflighting his cockpit touched the altimeter, so I asked about pressure altitude. I needed to dig a little deeper after his deadpan, "Pressure altitude means I'm comfortable." Whether that was a memory aid, I'm still unsure. One unexpected memory aid came during the walk-around as I asked about navlight colors and positions. The applicant lifted his open left hand slightly and said, "Red-handed," then raised a balled-up right hand to say, "Green glass globes glowed greenly!" I didn't ask about the tail's white navlight. Taxiing toward the runup pad and a pilot in a T-28 finishing his pretakeoff check, the same applicant quipped, "A fool and his money soon have more airplane than either can handle." How true!
One commercial applicant finished his runup and placed his chart and navigation logs in easy reach. As he did so, a Cessna Golden Eagle pilot obtained a flight-following clearance to Fort Worth Meacham Airport, by coincidence our destination, while he taxied past us. As if he had planned it, my applicant turned to me and raised his right index finger to punctuate his proclamation, "I'll follow him!"
The question of who is pilot in command can lead to some interesting declarations, too. As one applicant briefed me on seatbelt and shoulder harness use, I jokingly asked, "Do you fly roughly?" to which he immediately quipped, "You said I am pilot in command. Trust your captain, but strap in good!" Another fellow wanted to check that he would be pilot-in-command for the checkride. I said that he was. "Then that means that you must do what I say, so long as it doesn't violate safety, is that right?" he asked. Cautiously, I again said, "Yes." His eyebrows shot skyward as he said to me, "Good! Sit down, strap in, and shut up!" So I did.
In the practice area, a private pilot applicant considered my question regarding the impulse to land on a private grass strip. He looked at me imp- ishly, and said, "Real men not only fly taildraggers, but they land where they want...with permission." Practice areas give plenty of opportunity for problems to appear, but none could possibly beset a private pilot applicant whose very nice performance demanded a little praise from me. Instead of saying "thank you," this bald applicant replied, "I never have bad hair days." Another private applicant, considering a place for S turns, asked me to describe a white building that the airplane structure suddenly hid from him. "It appears to be a rural church, well attended, with worship in progress," I said. He stared at me, striving to keep a straight face, and asked, "Have you considered getting away from the FAA for awhile?"
During instrument tests, so reliant on gadgets, some address cockpit problems by exploratory fiddling when the familiar fails. It's hard not to smile when an applicant responds to some strange airplane action by staring incredulously at the mystery component and exclaiming, "So that's what that does!" Error is a part of being human, so examiners aren't surprised when applicants make mistakes - but we do expect them to be corrected. An instrument applicant, having misspoken the minimum descent altitude, stopped himself and read it again. Incorrectly. Frustrated, he read it again, speaking each number individually, then in AIM standard. Still scrutinizing the panel, he growled through clenched teeth: "I never make the same mistake thrice." Occasionally instrument applicants bust minimums. One such applicant looked at me hopefully, eyes aglow in his hood's shadowy depths, and said, "I'd hoped to peek at street signs!"
Another instrument applicant wondered aloud whether he should descend to approach altitude. "I'm just a passenger," I replied. Logic oozed through the intercom. "I don't know how far I am from the fix. Safer to stay high until I am on a published segment and I know." Smiling, I said slowly, "You have chosen..." As if scripted, our respective headsets echoed the other's confident "...wisely!" as our airplane cruised toward his success.
Checkrides aren't meant to be funny, but any time you bring people together under such potentially stressful circumstances, there's room for either laughter or tears. I choose laughter.
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