Waiting in the Wings
For a job defined by movement, we spend a surprising amount of time waiting...
Just like the commonly held belief that every trip means a week lounging on a palm-lined, sun-drenched beach - where do I send my CV?! - this idea sits comfortably among the biggest misconceptions about pilot life.
People are often surprised that our regular bursts of near-supersonic motion are generally bookended by significant spells of… well, not actually going anywhere.
The stereotype says we’re always on the move.
Always going somewhere.
Yet outside the industry it seems there is little sense of just how much of our time is spent simply ready - and waiting - to go somewhere.
And as we know, it’s not just one type of waiting, either.
We inhabit a realm formed around a framework of different kinds of waits: some short and sharp, others slow and sprawling - each with its own distinct flavour.
In fact, enough flavours to rival an Italian gelateria...
There are the focused kind: primed and poised like a coiled spring - at the holding point, listening intently for clearance to release the brakes.
Then there’s the limbo kind: with standbys spent constantly eyeing the company phone as if it were a venomous snake waiting to strike…
And countless other varieties in between.
The stillness varies, but the pattern is familiar.
Movement, wait.
Clearance, hold.
Start, pause.
Aircraft arriving in: 01hrs 47mins
Some of the longest - and at times most bizarre - pauses are the ones that can occur before we even board.
Waiting around the terminal for a delayed aircraft to arrive: coffee in one hand, FlightRadar24 in the other - intently willing that little yellow aircraft-shaped blob to inch a little closer.
I mean, how surreal is that?
In what other profession do you rush to arrive at work on time... only to end up waiting to even begin?
A strange little cocktail of sensations ensues:
Mix two-thirds adrenaline-sapping pause with one-third of that familiar sinking sense that the day is already beginning to stretch far beyond schedule - and garnish it all with the knowledge that relaxing airside is impossible when your uniform becomes a magnet for the gaze of every frustrated passenger in the vicinity.
There’s even poetic irony in the fact that this enforced pause generally comes right at the start of our day, conjuring images of pilots raring to go but held in place - the aviation equivalent of those old cartoon characters running on the spot.
My phone is on loud, right?
At least with a home standby there’s sometimes a chance - or at least half a chance - the wait might not be quite so energy-sapping.
In many ways though, it can prove even more stressful - aviation’s own version of roulette - waiting for a notification to determine the day’s destiny.
Not quite “working”, but definitely not “off-duty” either - just suspended in that strange land of limbo, where your heart skips a beat every time your phone lights up.
That phone.
That has the power to wreak havoc at any moment - the next buzz fully capable of derailing plans and leaving your upcoming roster in more of a mess than the cabin after a late-night Ibiza.
Or maybe not…
There’s always the chance of winning standby roulette, of course - but only after you’ve checked (and double-checked) your device twenty times, scrutinised the weather twice as often, and imagined every conceivable call-out scenario.
Standby really is a unique kind of limbo… ready and waiting in suspense, while life carries on around you.
Family and friends go about their day, the café empties and refills, and the hours march by - all while any tasks undertaken (or, let’s say, risked…) have to be planned with the uniform close by, knowing that everything might have to be instantly dropped at a moment’s notice.
We’re ready to go, but…
And if the call does come, the suspended limbo of home standby gives way to the more tangible suspense of being on board - where the waits don’t magically disappear - they just take on another flavour.
Waiting on stand for an ATC slot, or for some essential service, suddenly becomes a very public affair.
A sea of passengers watching, sometimes intently, sometimes with the patience of saints, sometimes… not.
These are a busy kind of wait: juggling passenger communication, updating the company, liaising with ATC, checking the status of ground services, and somehow trying to keep your own sense of calm intact.
Every minute stretches a little longer when the engines are off and the clock ticks towards the next clearance.
Announcements are made.
Questions are answered.
Occasional groans are heard.
We explain why the aircraft is still stationary and offer the honest reminder that we, the crew, are just as eager - and waiting - to get going.
It’s a very different kind of limbo: far removed from the quiet suspense of home standby, instead this is more of a hands-on, everyone’s-watching-you-work sort of pause.
Still, there’s a rhythm to it - a delicate dance of communication, coordination, and gentle nudges to keep the operation moving forward.
Hold at the fix, expected delay 28 minutes
And of course, even after getting airborne - and racing towards our destination at nine miles per minute - our world of waits still has another potential flavour before landing.
Arrival holds are a funny thing: we’re quite obviously still moving, carving elegant racetracks in the sky… yet in the geographical sense, we’ve been placed on pause.
It’s waiting, but with lift.
If a wait on stand is a busy pause requiring a constant balance of coordination and communication, the arrival delay is a higher-stakes kind of wait - one that demands the calm focus of a Jedi juggling fuel, weather and alternate considerations.
It’s a curious form of waiting - whilst our position may be paused, our minds are anything but.
The flight deck becomes a quiet brainstorm of predictions and projections, calculations and contingencies, as we assess our position in the giant game of aviation Tetris unfolding in the sky around us.
Leave the hold, proceed direct…
Eventually though, just like the standby limbo and the waits on stand - every pause comes to an end - and we trade tracing circles in the sky for the beckoning runway lights ahead.
The myriad of waits, delays and holds woven into our world are arguably as defining a feature of our day as the bursts of near-supersonic motion.
Moments of high-stakes intensity framed by the stretches of stillness.
The waits, it turns out, are stitched into the very fabric of the profession.
Aviation teaches patience long before it teaches landings.
From waiting for the right weather for first lessons, to treading water in a recruitment hold pool, all the way through to awaiting an upgrade opportunity, hoping your number is next.
Waiting, it seems, isn’t the space between flying; it’s up there with lift and drag.
In the end, perhaps waiting isn’t the opposite of flying at all - maybe it’s what gives the movement meaning.
—
Two Six Left
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