
(or how to lose friends and haunt co-pilots)
Thanks to George Bunker Warriner (yes, real name, not a Bond villain) for this spine-chilling shaggy dog story — straight from the glory days of Trans-Canada Airlines, when men were men, planes were metal, and pranks were potentially FAA violations.
So here’s the scoop: Back in the ancient times when TCA flew those lovely, leaky DC-3 Freighters, there was this Captain — let’s call him Captain Chuckles — who was less “by-the-book” and more “by-the-barf-bag.”
Mid-flight, with the aircraft cruising along on autopilot (because obviously, nothing says “safety” like a 1940s robot with less intelligence than a toaster), the Captain disappears to the back. Official reason? “To check the cargo.” Unofficial reason? “To destroy the onboard lavatory.”
The First Officer (FO), a by-the-book, nervous type whose idea of excitement is double-knotting his shoelaces, notices the Captain has been gone longer than a complimentary in-flight meal in economy class. Suspicious and slightly sweaty, he leaves the controls (remember: autopilot, aka “the magic button”) and tiptoes to the back.
And there it was: a casket.
Because yes — nothing completes a cargo load like a one-way passenger in a pine overcoat.
Just as the FO approaches… BAM!
THE LID FLIES OPEN.
A corpse sits up faster than your Aunt Edna at a Black Friday sale.
FO screams like he’s seen the in-flight menu.
His life flashes before his eyes — mostly clipboards and training manuals.
But plot twist!
It’s not a restless spirit.
It’s the Captain, giggling like a ghoul, having pulled off what he calls “The Old Coffin Clown Routine.” (And what the union rep later called “grounds for therapy.”)
To add insult to cardiac injury, turns out this same Captain, when applying to TCA, sent in a photo of himself standing next to a horse and wrote:
“I’m the one wearing the hat.”
(Which, given his prank history, might not have been true.)
Moral of the story?
Never trust a man who jokes around near a casket.
Or submits a job application with livestock.





