—or— “Bob’s First-Class Ticket to Dumbsville”
Once upon a gate delay at Terminal 2, a rookie rampie named Bob—fresh outta high school and still confused by walkie-talkies—was handed the ultimate responsibility by his grizzled boss:
“Go fetch the key to the DC-9.”
Now, Bob had only been on the job for a few weeks. He still thought “GPU” was a video game setting and once tried to load a dog kennel into the lav truck.
But this? This was his moment. His chance to shine. His hero arc.
So off Bob went, storming through the airport like Indiana Jones if he wore steel-toed boots and forgot his lunch.
He scoured every corner of the operation:
- Asked cargo if they had it (they handed him a forklift).
- Asked customer service if they’d seen it (they gave him a blank stare and asked if he worked there).
- Asked a flight attendant—she offered him a drink coupon and a warning about “those ramp guys.”
Hours (okay, 20 minutes) later, Bob had an epiphany! He remembered a shiny key dangling on a hook in the dark recesses of the Sacred Maintenance Room, right next to an old coffee pot and a sign that read “If you touch this, you’re fired.”
Did Bob hesitate?
Yes, for about 2.3 seconds. Then he grabbed the key and sprinted toward the aircraft like he was in a cheesy 80s training montage.
At the gate, the pilot—Captain McMustache—was pacing like he was waiting for a kidney transplant. Bob handed him the key like it was the Holy Grail.
The captain took one look at it…
Then at Bob…
Then exploded with laughter so hard a nearby gate agent asked if he needed oxygen.
“Son,” he chuckled, wiping away tears,
“This is the key to the janitor’s closet. There’s no such thing as a key for a DC-9! You think we start this thing like a Ford Pinto?”
Bob’s face turned crimson. He briefly considered faking a fainting spell, but the floor was sticky.
The pilot kindly explained:
“Planes have starter motors, Bob. Switches. Buttons. Avionics. Not ignition keys like a lawnmower.”
Bob took the key back like it was radioactive and sulked off… but not for long. That day, he learned a vital lesson:
Always ask if the plane takes a key… before making a cross-terminal fool of yourself.
And in time? Bob rose through the ranks, eventually becoming…
Head of Unclaimed Lost Keys.
(Which, coincidentally, is also what his job title was the moment this story began.)
Coming next issue:
“The Great De-Ice Fiasco: When Jim Mistook Glycol for Coffee Creamer!”
And remember, kids—DON’T BE LIKE BOB.
Unless you’re auditioning for a reboot of Airplane!
