Pilots, Man…

You ever notice how calm pilots are? Like, always calm. The plane could be ON FIRE, and they’re still up there like,

“Uh yeah, folks, we’re gonna go ahead and prepare for a slight unscheduled barbecuing of the left engine…”

WHAT IS THAT??

It’s like they’re allergic to emotions! These guys could be getting divorced mid-flight and you’d still hear:

“Uh, yeah folks, we’re gonna go ahead and descend into Phoenix, unlike my marriage.”

And the voice—the voice! That low, monotone, emotionally-dead voice.
Why do they all sound like they went to the same pilot voice school?

“Uh yeah folks, we’re currently flying at 36,000 feet, which coincidentally is the number of reasons I hate my job.”

And what’s with that little half-turn they do when they exit the cockpit at the end of the flight?
Like they’re some kind of exhausted war hero… “Yeah, I flew you here… you’re welcome.”

Buddy, the plane did 90% of the work. You just babysat the autopilot like it was a Roomba with wings.
You hit like three buttons, drank burnt coffee, and flirted with the flight attendant named Marla who’s been putting up with your crap since Reagan was president.

I asked a pilot once, I go, “Hey man, what do you actually do up there for six hours?”
He goes, “Oh we just monitor systems.”
You know what else monitors systems? A thermostat.

And turbulence! Oh God! That’s when you realize they’re no better than the rest of us.
‘Cause that calm voice goes out the window:

“Uh yeah folks, we’re experiencing a bit of chop… oh Jesus—”

Bit of CHOP? What are you, a chef??
We just dropped 800 feet like the plane hit a pothole in the sky and you’re calling it chop?
Just tell me I’m gonna die so I can drink this vodka straight outta the can!

And they all look the same! What is it with pilots and that crisp little uniform with the hat?
They dress like they’re in a barbershop quartet but they’re flying a missile full of crying babies and bad decisions.

Look, I respect ‘em. I do. It’s a crazy job. But can we admit—half of them are barely awake?
You ever peek into the cockpit mid-flight?
One guy’s reading Golf Digest, the other’s watching Die Hard 2 on the iPad.

Meanwhile we’re back there clinging to the tray table like it’s a flotation device!

But hey… at least they’re not like Uber drivers.
Because when a pilot makes a wrong turn, we don’t end up in Kmart—we end up in Uzbekistan!

Anyway, tip your pilots, folks—if you can ever find them awake.
I’m Bill Burr. Goodnight!