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So the other day, I had my usual schedule at the flight school, and a Discovery Flight was up next. After finishing with one of my students, I checked in with the dispatcher to see if the Discovery guy had shown up. “Oh, he’s here,” they said. But get this—he’s already outside, inspecting the plane like he’s about to buy it! I thought, who does that? I mean, usually people are just excited to hop in and fly.

I walked out, introduced myself to this older guy—probably in his 50s—and we started the pre-flight. Everything was going smoothly… well, almost. He kept touching every part of the aircraft, and then he’d randomly chuckle for no reason before going stone-cold serious again. It was like watching someone play “Hot Potato” with invisible objects. At this point, I’m wondering, “Is this guy okay? Maybe he’s just really into planes… or something?”

We finally got the plane fueled up, and as we sat inside, that’s when it hit me—the smell. It was like something had died in there! At first, I thought maybe he’d skipped deodorant for a week, but no, it was more… pungent. Almost like… alcohol. I kept second-guessing myself though, thinking, “Maybe it’s just bad breath?”

So, we start taxiing, and this guy is getting handsy with the controls. Now, I usually let Discovery Flight folks taxi, take off, and get a feel for flying—it’s like a little teaser to get them hooked. But not this guy. I’m holding the controls because, you know, jet traffic nearby, and he’s just grabbing at the pedals, yoke, whatever. I’m like, “Dude! It’s my control!” I think I told him at least four times. But nope, he’s still messing with everything.

We’re holding short of the runway, and it’s just too much. I look at him and ask, “Have you been drinking, sir?” He mumbles a quick “no” without even making eye contact. So I ask again, “Are you sure? Because you smell like you drank a distillery.” And then—the confession. He looks at me all sheepish and says, “I’m so sorry, please don’t tell the flight school! I had, like, two drinks.” Two drinks?! I told him, “Buddy, you smell like you’ve had the whole bottle of whiskey!”

And then, the kicker. He says, “I just wanted to go up and take some pictures for my ex-wife… I really miss her. Oh, and today was my last day as a computer engineer, so I had a couple drinks to celebrate.” I just stared at him and said, “Hell no! Are you crazy?! We’re going back to the ramp!”

So I start taxiing back, and this guy’s practically begging me not to tell anyone. “Please, man, don’t tell the flight school! I’ll Uber home, I swear!” I’m thinking, “Yeah, you better not be driving,” but I don’t say it out loud. We get back, I park the plane, and before I can even unbuckle, he bolts out of the aircraft and makes a beeline for the parking lot.

But here’s where it gets even better. As I hand the dispatch key back inside, I glance out the window and see him nearly take out a parked car. Then, like a scene from a bad action movie, he hits a stop sign at the intersection and just flees the scene!

Has anyone else had to deal with something this wild on a Discovery Flight? Because, seriously, what just happened?!

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