Here’s the thing. It’s also the only time I blew chunks in an airplane. I attribute it (lack of hurl-age) to the mystical power of the barf bag in my lower left flight suit pocket.
Not going to say I never came close. Dutch-rolling through the high haze at 40K’ over central FL in a T2 Buckeye while not fully recovered from a hangover following the end of a gun det, was an exercise in mind over gullet.
I hear you...although I never “talked on the big white phone” in an airplane or helicopter, I was
EXREMELY close on FAM-“SO YOU WANNA GO TO AOCS?”...which was the flight where my beloved OR [LT Lyle Hanseman] flew a T-34B from KMSP to KEAU to conduct my disorientation flight at KEAU and sign papers in the summer of 1986.
He had packed about 23 barf bags and instructed me to use all of them if necessary. He tried really hard to make me “talk on the big white phone”...boat loads of yanking and banking...and it was 100*F which I think he planned...but I sorta fucked up and refused to remove [or loosen] my necktie because it was such an important flight to me and I wanted to look semi-respectable for the occasion...also, Mom & Dad were watching.
Anyway, eyeballing those 23 barf bags had a real impact...“I will
NOT talk on any of the big white phones!”...I probably stated that about 341 times for the duration of the hop...which annoyed my OR.
