Tony Time
There are overtime shifts…
And then there is Tony Time.
At the airport, every ramp manager knew the difference.
It was a busy night at Toronto Pearson, back in the days when the 747 Combi ruled the ramp. The upper deck had to be worked, and not just one aircraft.
One after another.
A 747 would arrive, the crew would unload it, clean up the operation, and before anybody had time to finish their coffee, another one would appear at the gate.
Then another.
And another.
The ramp manager stood in the operations office, looking at the flight schedule. His face slowly turned the colour of a baggage tag.
“Where am I going to get crews for all these upper decks?”
He picked up the phone.
“Hey, I need a crew for overtime.”
A pause.
“How much overtime?”
The manager looked at the schedule.
“Let’s just say… you’ll be working until the aircraft stop coming.”
Another pause.
“And?”
The manager sighed.
“Tony Time.”
There was silence.
Then, from somewhere in the background, the sound of a chair scraping across the floor.
“Who’s on the crew?”
The manager read the names.
The response was immediate.
“Okay. We’re in.”
The senior crew had arrived.
These were not ordinary ramp attendants. These were the veterans. The men who had seen everything. They had loaded DC-8s, L-1011s, 747s, and probably a few aircraft that had been retired before some of the younger employees were even born.
They knew the upper deck of a 747 like they knew their own kitchens.
They also knew something else:
Overtime was good.
But Tony Time was better.
The first 747 pulled in.
“Okay, boys,” said the lead hand. “Let’s get upstairs.”
The crew marched toward the aircraft with the confidence of men who had done this many times before.
The upper deck was loaded.
Then unloaded.
Then loaded again.
Before they had a chance to sit down, the radio crackled.
“Ramp crew, another 747 Combi inbound.”
One of the senior guys looked at his watch.
“Excellent.”
Another said, “I just hope they’re paying us properly.”
The lead hand looked at him.
“Tony Time.”
The man nodded.
“Right. I forgot.”
And so the night continued.
747 after 747.
Upper deck after upper deck.
The younger employees watched the senior crew working nonstop and wondered how they could possibly keep going.
Then they saw the overtime sheet.
Suddenly, everybody understood.
At three in the morning, one of the ramp attendants finally asked:
“How many hours have we been here?”
The lead hand looked at the paperwork.
“Long enough to buy a new car.”
“Seriously?”
“No. But after tonight, I can afford the payments.”
The manager came out to check on the operation.
“How are you guys doing?”
The crew stopped for a moment.
One man looked at the manager.
“Do you want the truth?”
The manager hesitated.
“Not really.”
“Good. Then we’re doing great.”
Another 747 taxied toward the gate.
The ramp manager looked at the crew.
“Okay, boys. One more.”
The entire crew stared at him.
“One more?”
The manager smiled nervously.
“Maybe two.”
The senior crew looked at each other.
Then one of them slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his calculator.
The manager watched in horror.
“What are you doing?”
“Calculating Tony Time.”
By sunrise, the airport was waking up.
The morning shift arrived and saw the same senior crew still working.
One of the day-shift employees asked:
“Have you guys been here all night?”
The lead hand smiled.
“All night?”
He looked at his watch.
“That’s a funny way of saying it.”
The ramp manager walked by, holding the overtime paperwork.
The crew looked at him.
“So… same time tomorrow?”
The manager stopped.
He slowly backed away.
“Absolutely not.”
The crew smiled.
“Good.”
The manager continued walking.
Then one of the senior ramp attendants shouted:
“Hey, boss!”
The manager turned around.
“What?”
“How much is the overtime rate again?”
The manager froze.
The crew started laughing.
Because everyone knew the truth.
At the airport, airplanes came and went.
Schedules changed.
Weather caused delays.
Equipment broke down.
But there was one thing you could always count on:
When the 747 Combis started arriving nonstop…
The senior crews would appear.
The upper deck would get worked.
And somewhere on the payroll…
Tony Time would begin.