When Old Friends Get Together

Chapter 5

It was immediately obvious how an entire flying course could be squeezed into a six-hour timeframe. The instructor talked so fast, he made Micky's hyperactive way of speaking sound like a 78 record set on 33 1/3. The instructor pointed at each instrument as he named it, carefully explaining their functions. It took him all of seven minutes to cover the entire instrument panel. (It would have only taken three minutes, but Micky got into an argument with the instructor on the subject of "attitude adjustment.")

"These control the elevators, these control the ailerons, this is your rudder, you turn this to bank left, you do this to yaw right, and always make sure you compensate for the forces of gravity and drag. Are there any questions?"

Peter asked, "Where's the gear for reverse?"

Davy asked, "Where's the stewardess?"

Mike asked, "Where's the parachute?"

Micky asked, "Where the menu? I'm starving!"

*     *     *

Six hours passed in like manner, until it was finally time for Mike to fly. Mike taxied the plane to the end of the runway, and-

"Stop!" the instructor shouted.

Mike braked quickly (or whatever you call it when a plane stops), nearly giving his three friends whiplash. "What? What did I do?"

"You graduated," the instructor said. He opened his bomber jacket, pulled out an airplane-shaped pin, and pinned it to Mike's chest- literally, to his chest. The tough, stoic Texan yelped. "Oh, terribly sorry," the instructor said, removing it. He started to re-pin it.

"Don't do that!" warned Mike, holding out his hand. The instructor slapped the pin, point down, into Mike's palm, causing him to yelp again.

"He hasn't even gone up in the air," Davy pointed out.

Micky asked, "Yeah, how could he have graduated already?"

"Cuz I'm done teaching him," the instructor said, "unless you wanna pay me overtime."

"Overtime?" the four Monkees said in unison.

"Of course," the instructor said smugly. "You only paid for six hours, and my wife's waiting supper for me- chicken pot pie, tonight. You expect me to give that up, you gotta pay me double-time.

"Besides," he went on, "you think I'm dumb enough to go up in the air with a guy who got his license in only six hours?"

As the instructor spoke, he wrote very quickly on a slip of paper, at the top of which was a very bad picture of Mike. "Now, this is your temporary flyer's license, you should get your permanent license in the mail in thirty days, and please be advised that if your name, address, or phone number should change during that time, you will have to update it ASAP or your license will become null and void, thank you and have a nice day. Did you hear me? Out!"