The dreaded words from the tower hit me like a punch to the gut, taking my breath away. “Mooney Seven Hundred Charlie Whiskey, I have a phone number for you to call. Let me know when ready to copy.” I replied that I was ready and scribbled the number on my kneeboard. I then contacted ground control for taxi instructions to Millionair at San Antonio International Airport. I knew that after parking, I’d call the tower supervisor and take a butt-chewing.
At this point in my flying, I had a few hundred hours but was still not completely comfortable landing at larger airports. On trips to larger metropolitan areas, I purposely chose feeder airports to stay clear of the more congested airspace and Class B and C airports. On this flight, I decided to land at the “big” airport because it was closer to my intended destination and the Millionair FBO offered discounts for their base tenants at other airfields.
The approach and landing occurred without incident. But once on the ground and rolling out on runway 13R, I didn’t hear any further instructions from the tower. In an instant, I noticed that somehow the radio had flipped from my primary radio to the number two radio holding the ground frequency. During the chaos of rolling out, deciphering the communications problem and switching back to tower frequency, I missed the tower’s instructions to exit expeditiously. The tower controller admonished me with a harsh tone, said he had been trying to reach me, and told me to write down the phone number.
I parked, sat quietly in the plane, and dialed the tower. The tower supervisor scolded me for the delay and said a Southwest jet had to go around to avoid a spacing infraction. I apologized and explained my radio mishap. With the untimely communication and the unfamiliarity with the larger airport, I was not sure where to exit and continued to taxi while awaiting instructions. I apologized and was let off with a harsh warning.
I had mostly forgotten about the incident until a group of friends on a text chain brought the memory forward in a very weird way. Like anyone with a smartphone, I have several text groups set up to communicate with a large crew of friends and family. One such chat consists of high school friends sharing a schizophrenic array of sports, lifestyle, hunting topics, and birthday messages with the occasional meme video thrown in for good measure. Periodically, I share my Twin & Turbine articles on the text chain if I feel they might resonate with the group even though I am the only aviator among them.
Recently, one friend in the group commented on his experience rewatching the 1981 Brian DePalma thriller “Blow Out” starring John Travolta. His comment started a series of text reactions about the best 1980’s films starring Travolta. This, in turn, led to the post of a video trailer for the 1985 movie “Perfect” starring Travolta alongside Jamie Lee Curtis. The movie follows Travolta as a Rolling Stone reporter doing an exposé on the 1980’s fitness craze and the singles scene associated with health clubs in Los Angeles.
Like most text chains, the topics can fluctuate instantly and for no reason other than someone in the group has an impulsive thought that just needs to be shared. In this instance, our text conversation suddenly morphed from Jamie Lee Curtis and 80’s hit movies to a sports commentary on San Antonio Spurs superstar Victor Wembanyama and his salary negotiations.
Apparently, in the middle of our memory-lane reminiscence of cheesy 80’s movies, news broke of Wemby’s choice to forego millions in salary to allow the Spurs to sign other superstars in the hope of creating a dynastic team. All of this topic-shifting was simply too much for me, and I joked that in the future the group should require some notice of transition. My remark was met with several snide comments explaining the beauty of fluid topics, stream of consciousness, and an unfettered idea forum. I was told that topic changes would allow any random thought from any individual. That, of course, is what makes the text chain entertaining. Noting this lack of content restriction, I selfishly promoted my recent T&T article (July 2026) about flying my kids on college tours. Immediately, a screenwriter friend in Los Angeles replied that the best topic segue would be for me to use the movie “Perfect” starring John Travolta and Jamie Lee Curtis in my next T&T article.
The challenge was heard and accepted. I started strategizing ways to connect this ridiculous 1985 movie plot into a story about flying. I watched bits and parts of the movie on fast forward, because watching the whole thing was too painful. The connection hit me when Curtis and Travolta are in an argument, and Curtis’ character screams at Travolta, “What’s wrong with wanting to be the best you can be? What’s wrong with wanting to be perfect?” And boom – the perfect wrap for a story about perfect piloting.
The answer to Curtis’ question, of course, is that there is nothing wrong with striving for perfection. As pilots, perfection and flawless execution are the standard, and anything less can be deadly. The reality though, is that just about every flight contains a mistake. Most are inconsequential, and without the dire consequence we read about in safety articles. To put this in perspective, the most accomplished flying team in the world, the Blue Angels, debrief after every exhibition with three rules in mind: What mistakes happened during the performance; why did the mistake happen; and what will be done differently to correct for the next show. These seemingly perfect pilots, flying within inches of each other, are expected to call out their own mistakes before one of the other pilots does so. The Blue Angels famously believe that they have never flown the “perfect show.” Well, if they can’t fly perfectly, what does that say about general aviation pilots who fly a whole lot fewer hours and under less strenuous conditions? It says we make a lot of mistakes, and we better learn from them and do better the next flight.
Notably, the FAA recognizes that no perfect pilots exist, despite expecting that all pilots know the information and rules contained in just over 1,200 pages of the Federal Aviation Regulations / Aeronautical Information Manual (FAR /AIM as we all know it). That is why in 1976, the FAA, in partnership with NASA, launched a safety review process and included a modified “Get Out of Jail Free Card.” The reporting system allows for confidential and non-punitive reporting for pilots to document their own safety incidents. Those records are compiled and used to “identify system-level safety and threats in the National Airspace System,” which are then communicated by way of “Safety Alerts” to those working within the aviation ecosystem.
Knowing about the NASA reporting system, I immediately googled how to file one of these reports, logged in to their system, and ratted myself out to the FAA. I told my story in the section titled “Describe the Event / Situation.” I included my pertinent information like the type of plane flown, time of incident, total hours flown, weather conditions, and the event narrative. I hit submit and hoped that the tattletale report would keep me out of trouble. And that was the last I ever heard about it. True to their word, the information remained confidential and no other punitive action was taken.
I’m sure the Southwest pilots behind me were furious. I disrupted their flight, probably messed up their excellent on-time record, and may have even caused some passengers to miss a connection. Mistakes happen. Those Southwest pilots are not perfect, and they too had to learn from painful and embarrassing experiences. The NASA Aviation Safety Reporting System logs more than 100,000 reports annually and more than 2.3 million reports since its inception, confirming that I’m not the only guy out there having a bad day. I’m glad my mistake was not more serious, and I’m also proud to have taken the initiative to file with the FAA in the event my infraction can teach another aviator something important.
There is a super-cheesy scene in “Perfect” where Travolta and Curtis are in bed embracing, and she laments, “I’m glad I met you; I’m sorry I met you.” The same is true with my introduction to the NASA reporting system. I’m glad there is an avenue where pilots can assess, report, and learn from their own mistakes without fear of repercussion from the FAA. Like the Blue Angels, I was forced to answer the questions of what happened, why it happened, and how I was going to correct that mistake for future flights. Since there is no such thing as perfect, I’ll continue learning, dissecting my flights, and making corrections to get as close to perfect as possible. Meanwhile, if you need something to watch on a Saturday night, might I suggest “Urban Cowboy” for Travolta and “Trading Places” or “A Fish Called Wanda” for Curtis. They are not “Perfect,” but that is exactly why I am suggesting them.
