We were flying on a commercial jet liner into Greenville-Spartanburg at the edge of a particularly violent nighttime thunderstorm. The pilot missed the instrument approach and executed a go-around for a second attempt at landing ... otherwise we'd be forced to divert to and spend the night in Charlotte.
I immediately recognized what was happening and summoned a flight attendant. "Look," I told her urgently. "I fly around here all the time and know this airspace like it's the back of my hand. Now you go to the cockpit and let the captain know I'm a private pilot who's willing to help out so we can get back down on the ground safely and on time. And for pete's sake turn on the Fasten Seatbelts sign 'cause I'm ready to rock n' roll and get real randy with this big hoss."
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Then there was the time I was in the doctor's office, half-dressed in a half-gown while he reviewed a series of particularly problematic series of X-rays. He shook his head and told me, "I'm calling CDC in Atlanta because I'm way in over my head here."
I jumped up from the table (revealing my indignation) and snatched the X-rays from his hand. "It's not Malaria, West Nile Virus or Dengue Fever. I recognize all my symptoms because I've been online at a popular healthcare website, which means I know what I'm doing. Now order me up some blood work, start some fresh coffee and tell the nurse I said to make it Stat!" (Or did I mean Pronto?)
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Neither incident really happened, obviously. In reality I kept my mouth shut, prayed both times, and let the guys who knew more than me land the airplane ... and make the correct medical diagnosis (notice I'm still here).
Which might help explain why trying real hard not to second-guess the Creator, who's in constant control and knows all things, ain't such a bad idea. Especially when you can't see the runway and don't know an X-ray image from a post card.
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