Thrown out of an FBO...

Decades ago, in my younger days (okay, waaaay younger), I was asked to
leave a drinking establishment or two, and I've had a few women show me
the door, over time...but I never thought I'd ever be asked to leave an
FBO.

To our amazement, it happened to Mary and me today.

It all started pleasantly enough, with a brunch flight to a small town
airport in North Central Iowa. The weather today was absolutely
gorgeous, with temperatures in the 70s and smooth, calm air above a low
haze layer. We called ahead to make sure the FBO had a courtesy car
available, and within an hour we were on the ramp chatting with the
line guy.

Sadly, our favorite restaurant (we visit this little town a couple of
times per year) had gone belly up after over 100 years of continuous
operation, so we asked the FBO owner if he had any recommendations. A
large man, our conversation made it clear that he had enjoyed the
culinary delights from most (if not all) of the restaurants in his
small town, and we made mental note of the ones he most recommended.
He then jovially sent us on our merry way.

After finding the recommended locally-owned greasy spoon restaurant
(always our target!), we were soon enjoying a tasty, affordable lunch
accompanied by rapid-fire repartee' from our blue-haired veteran
waitress. We had a great time with her caustic, slightly off-color
humor, and finished off with two pieces of her home-made coconut cream
pie. We were soon waddling our way back to the courtesy van.

As always, we made a bee-line for the nearest gas station, and topped
off the tank. In my opinion, folks who use courtesy cars and don't add
a little gas are abusing a very nice system, and we always want to do
our part to make sure that the traditional "airport car" lives on.
Minutes later we were back inside the FBO, fat, dumb, and looking
forward to another great flight home.

Walking through the lobby area, I called out to the owner (who was
sitting at his desk behind the counter) and thanked him for a wonderful
recommendation. He stood up and walked over to the counter to bid us
farewell, we chatted about the restaurant we had visited, and I
mentioned to him that we had "topped off the tank" for him in his van.

He replied that we "Didn't have to do that...", but Mary remarked that
we ALWAYS tried to fill the tanks, in thanks for the use of their car.
I then mentioned that we, too, had a courtesy van at our hotel in Iowa
City, and that I hadn't had to fill the tank in three years, thanks to
the generosity of our pilot guests.

He laughed and said that he "Had to fill the tank more often than
that!", to which I laughingly replied "Yeah, the only time the tanks
don't get filled at our place is when charter pilots use our van --
those guys are the cheapest SOBs around!"

His face suddenly flushed red, and his tone abruptly changed. "Well,
I'm a charter pilot, and I believe you're insulting me, now..." he
growled in a quiet but somehow menacing voice. Still laughing, not
sure if he was joking, too, but somewhat alarmed at his sudden change
of tone, I replied in a conspiratorial way "Well, we all know *why*
they don't fill the tanks -- they're not making diddly squat, and those
kids can't afford to shell out too much cash..."

This placated him not at all. He went on to tell me how he's got "Six
charter pilots working for him, and they all make a good wage, and you
shouldn't be making blanket statements insulting 'em that way..."

Just like *that* the atmosphere in the office changed, and I was
starting to get flustered at his sudden change of personality. Mary
piped up and said that this was all "Just our observation of the way
some charter pilots behaved...", and I replied that I was "Just joking
around..." -- to which he snarled "Okay, 'John Kerry' -- maybe you
folks shouldn't be coming around here and borrowing my car anymore..."


I was dumb-founded -- he was kicking us out, and asking us not to come
back! Mary (for the first time in a very long time) was speechless. I
simply didn't know how to handle a situation that had gone from
friendly to adversarial in the span of three sentences.

My surprise quickly passed, though, and I was well on my way from
flustered to incredulous, bordering on the angry. I just stared at him
in disbelief, but Mary quickly filled the gap, stating in her best "Mom
voice" that "Avoiding this place shouldn't be too hard." He asked me
if the keys were in the van, to which I replied in the affirmative. He
then turned on his heel and walked away, leaving us shaking our heads.

Our day ruined, it was a quiet flight home, as we pondered what could
make a guy snap like that over such inconsequential banter. The only
thing we could think of us was that he was having a very, very bad day
-- perhaps something had gone wrong with one of his charter pilots, or
a charter job had fallen through? -- and our jokes tipped him over the
edge.

We'll never know -- and we'll never be back. It's a shame -- with all
the problems facing GA, small-town airports simply can't afford to have
FBOs driving off what little business they have (we were the only plane
there) -- but for us there are literally hundreds of other airports to
visit, so it won't matter much.

But this day will always bother me, nonetheless.
--
Jay Honeck
Iowa City, IA
Pathfinder N56993
www.AlexisParkInn.com
"Your Aviation Destination"