I had just finished entering our route from Seattle to Phoenix into the Boeing 737’s flight management system when John clattered down the jet bridge with his Rollaboard, thumped onto the jet, and entered the cockpit with a cheerful greeting. “Hey, great seeing you again!” I welcomed my first officer du jour. “What’s it been, three or four months?” In reality, though I recognized John and was pretty certain I enjoyed flying with him, I could not for the life of me recall a single detail of our last trip, or even about his background. In normal work life this would no doubt be an embarrassing faux pas, but in the airline world, and particularly at a large base like Seattle 737, it’s an entirely common experience and little reason for discomfiture. As John settled into the right seat and started building his nest, he readily admitted he had equally little memory of me or of our trip, and we set about reconstructing our knowledge of each other. (“Oh, wait, you’re the guy who lived on a sailboat, right?”)
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