Catching the maid

Jack was the photographer on the first Lerjet job I ever had. It was a specially modified Lear with a camera about the size or a beer cooler stood on end, peering through the floor at the ground below.

We were taking pictures for the US Geological Service who, in turn, made all kinds of maps. I was the copilot on the three man crew and my job was to preflight the plane and to not touch anything once the plane was airborne. That's the way the captain wanted it and that's what he got. Such an order and a lack of any training meant that if he died, we probablly all died because I didn't have a clue how to fly the damn thing.

We roamed about the country trying to find absolutely cloudless skies to take pictures from as high as 49,000 feet. Yes, that is up there. We even went to 51,250 feet once and frankly, that scared the hell out of me.

As we roamed, so did our base of operations. Find the cheapest hotel in the town and we were in it. We dined nightly at some cheap burger place or a pancake house. We didn't go to bars and I had about as much in common with the captain and old Jack than I do with a mentor at a quilting store.

Then the mystery happened. Jack looked frustrated at one breakfast. In fact, he looked downright mad.

"What's wrong, Jack?" I asked.

"The maid is stealing my scotch," he answered.

The captain laughed and told Jack he was drinking too much. The maid was innocent. Jack left in a huff as the captain laughed at him.

You can guess how the next few days went. The captain was relentless. He made fun of Jack and the maid. Finally, Jack had enough. He devised a plan.

"I caught her red-handed," Jack said proudly at breakfast.

"You couldn't have," the captain said. "We leave the hotel before the maids start work."

"Well I caught her red-handed."

"How?" I asked.

"Well," Jack said as he leaned forward and got a sly grin on his face, " I poured the scotch into another container I had and peed into the bottle. It's the same color. Then I marked the pee level on the bottle's label."

I howled. "You peed in the scotch bottle?"

"Yup," he said. "And sure enough, the level has been going down for two days how. She is drinking my scotch."

"No she ain't," the captain said. "She is drinking your pee. You want them hash browns?" he asked me.

I shook my head no and he scraped them off of my plate and into a clean ashtray and ate them.

So much for classy pilots, huh.

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