Whirly Girls

The convention ended today. My main work with the WG's is to help set up their booth, sell for 3 days, take down and pack their booth and schlep it the full length of the Convention Center to FedEx. Talk about a busman's holiday. Well, and keep three or four of them company each evening at the banquets and parties so they don't constantly have male helicopter pilots hitting on them. Tough duty, but someone's got to do it.

One of my friends is the first female NAVY helicopter pilot. Her husband is an astronaut, but not a helicopter pilot. At a huge gathering of friends, someone asked their young son what he wanted to be when he grew up. He said, "I don't know. Mommy, can boys be helicopter pilots, too?"

I made it through Wed, Thur, and Fri nights with 4 hrs sleep each night. Some of the younger WG's called me a weanie because THEY slept four hrs TOTAL for the three nights.

I SHOULD have some pictures, but they're all on WG's cameras. They promised to email them to me but I suspect they're still recovering.

One more "in between" I got there Wed afternoon. I knew the girls were setting up the booth but I didn't have the Booth Coordinator's cell phone number. And I needed an "Exhibitor's Pass" to get in early. The only phone number I had was the President's. The booth isn't her responsibility and I knew she was slammed with everything she had to get done. I agonized. "I know I could be a big help." "Pres. is so busy, I hate to bother her." Back and forth for 10 or 15 minutes. I finally decided I wouldn't bother the Pres. and put my phone back in my pocket. Just as I did, I heard, "Tom, why aren't you in the booth?" It was the President running from one meeting to another. Every Day, maybe little, maybe big. But every day.