“Strong Fish Smell In Cabin,” And Other Pilot-To-Ground Texts

Pilot is one of those jobs with a rarefied air around it. I see the uniform, and I immediately think That person knows and can do things that I cannot. If you've ever seen Catch Me If You Can, that power is a key plot point, as nobody questions con man Leonardo DiCaprio's authority as long as he looks like he can fly an airplane.

But pilots are people, too. They eat, and they sleep, and they follow sports just like us. Here's proof:

This post is from the Bluesky account of a collection of aviation enthusiasts who form ACARS Drama. I was introduced to it by my boyfriend, a former Air Force mechanic who also worked as a fuel dispatcher at O'Hare in Chicago, and he sends me links to the messages they reproduce multiple times a week. I used to think of flying as a necessary misery, but his interest in planes has helped me see the whole process, at least sometimes, as a near-miraculous combination of technology and teamwork. Before we go any further, I asked him to define ACARS for us:

ACARS stands for Aircraft Communication and Reporting System, and the medium is a tiny text message, usually auto-generated by on-board computers. Those messages might show an aircraft position, fuel consumption, minor maintenance issues, and other small details that keep everyone involved in the same page. Pilots also interact with it frequently as a reliable and efficient catch-all comms system. Using a small screen on the cockpit center console, with side selector buttons and a physical keyboard underneath, they can send and receive basic text updates to flight dispatchers and associated ground folks, most often about flight-related issues.

For those keeping score at home: Texting while driving is an absolutely terrible thing to do, but texting while flying is encouraged.

When pilots are below 10,000 feet, I've learned, they're governed by the sterile cockpit rule, which prohibits any chatter that's not essential to flying the plane safely. But for most of their journey, it's a workplace similar to any other, with some downtime. And among the many, many messages that ACARS Drama puts in its feed, one constant is just how many of these pilots are thinking about the big game:

I hope these folks aren't placing wild parlays before takeoff, and if they are, I sure hope the one flying my plane wins his. But they ask about non-sports events, too.

ACARS Drama only covers aircraft-to-station communication, which means we can't see the responses. The one-way nature of the account, combined with a lot of the abbreviations used, means plenty of the messages are more-or-less incomprehensible without context. But it's still fun to see when something exciting must have happened.

Note that these are being typed on an alphabetical, non-QWERTY pad. "Dancing Salsa Girl Emoji" would have taken a little while to put together, so it must have been worth it.

Something I hadn't given much thought to before seeing these is that the workers who form our aviation infrastructure aren't always total strangers to each other. They might even be pals within the relatively small community, as evinced by inside jokes and references like these:

This is one I can only describe as "If Ray Ratto flew a plane."

This one is just cute.

Aw!

Another thing I like about ACARS is that it makes me think more kindly toward people I usually associate with hellish experiences. When I'm navigating a place as crowded and impersonal as an airport, it's easy for me to believe that the airline wants me to be grateful that they've allowed me the privilege of paying hundreds of dollars for a tiny seat on their flight. It's nice to be reminded that, at least in certain positions, the people you put your trust in want you to have the best flight experience possible.

If an aircraft is a lot like any workplace, that means employees are also handed more than their fair share of stupid problems and silly situations. This is ACARS at its funniest—tightly worded short stories that clue you in on somebody else's aggravating day. Similar to the brief, dry reports from the database of emergency room visits, a little distance from the issue makes for a big laugh.

I'm not sure which of those is worse.

In Europe, an espresso machine that's unable to froth is a DEFCON 1 emergency.

That reminds me of a Dave McKenna story.

I will be haunted by this for the rest of my life.

And this.

Thanks, New Jersey.

I couldn't put those two anywhere but the end.