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As a former pilot, I am used to all sorts of stories involving our airborne brethen. I once had another pilot take a dear lady friend of mine along on a trip. He put a bunch of very ungallant moves on her, culminating in a veriation of the old “put out or get out” line. Not wanting to join the Mile High Club with him, she declined, and when they landed, she refused to return with this airborne asshole. Instead, she called me and asked me to come get her. Being a good buddy, I did so. I also got revenge for her.

A few weeks later, after the Philandering Pilot had forgotten the incident, I called the FAA Flight Service and filed a Visual Flight Rules (VFR) flight plan for him, using his aircraft numbers. He was on another, unfiled, flight at the time. Then I opened his “bogus” plan. However, an hour leter, from an uncontrolled field where security was lax, I called the Flight Service by telephone pretending to be the mark’s radio contact and announced that his radios were down and “he” was having a bit of trouble. Then I forgot about it and walked away.

When the FAA effluvia hit the prop wash, the mark – our would-be aircraft Romeo – got his tail chewed, a large bill for a false search and rescue operation, and a warning that one more minor stunt would cost him his pilot’s license. All this had a very calming effect on the man. We probably made him a better person.

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