A warm fuzzy

Torino, Italy

At work last night, I handled a flight that was supposed to go across the ocean. They first had problems with their altimeter transponder, and then a short time later reported a generator failure. They requested a deviation to Canada.

At this point in the proceedings, my heart rate and blood pressure did a climb, because while these things in and of themselves do not necessarily mean the pilot would declare an emergency, it could easily turn into one if additional malfunctions or weather came into play.

With the help of my team leaders, I assisted the flight in getting their aircraft information to Canadian customs, delivered a weather report to the pilot regarding their new destination, and handled a phone patch directly from ATC to the flight deck, which allowed the pilot to describe the mechanical problems directly to the head honchos. Everything went smoothly.

To my surprise, as the flight was nearing its new port of call, the pilot called me and asked if he could have my first name, as he wanted to write a letter of thanks to my company. I was completely surprised, but very pleased. I got the okay to give my first name over the air, and did so.

Historically, people who say that they are going to write a thank-you letter usually never do. But that doesn't matter. Being appreciated felt so good, even though I did nothing out of the ordinary. I was just doing my job - but it's nice to know someone on the other side of the microphone thought I did it well.