A Shorts SkyVan is just about the noisiest plane in the sky to be inside of. The racket generated inside by the turbine engine in each wing makes conversation all but impossible, and the whole damn thing has a rhythmic vibration that will either make you sick to your stomach, or, if you're a female lucky enough to be sitting in just the right seat, put a blissful smile on your face. On the second jump of the day I leaned over towards our videographer, George Katsoulis, and shouted "Where's Celine?" Celine is his girlfriend, his lover, his muse, the center of his world, yadda yadda make ya gag.
"What?" He shouted back.
"Where's Celine!" I practically screamed across the plane.
"What?" came the reply, as loudly as he could say it with his face clamped into the camera helmet.
"The blond with the Big T###!" I shouted. And in that instant, the racket seemed to drop a couple dozen decibels, and everybody in the plane turned to see who had shouted the "T" word.
"Who?" George shouted back.
Jesus Friggin Christ. What the hell is it gonna take? "Celine! You remember her! The French chick with blond hair" and with my hands held out in front of me as if I was clasping a pair of cantaloupes to my chest for emphasis "and big T###".
"Who?" Oh my fucking god. Everybody else in the plane including the pilot heard that one, but not George.
Holding my hands out even further in front of my chest I shouted "Celine! Your girlfriend! Where is she?"
"Oh her! She's back in Canada! But I have pictures for sale if you'd like to buy some!'
I demurred, but several other people in the plane stuck up their hands.
I'm now living the life that everybody imagined they would have when they retired. If they had one hell of an imagination.
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