110 – Gathistown, Maryland
“Hello, FAA, this here’s Tammy Beaujot at the Mid-Maryland Soaring Society, over in Gathistown? No, jerkball, that's Bu Jot, like its spelled, not Bu Joe, like that fancy wine.”
Enough of trying to get these idiots to pronounce her name the way her daddy taught her to say it. She wouldn’t give her name.
The woman had been in telephone hell for twenty minutes, handed off from one bureaucrat to the next at the Federal Aviation Administration regional office in Baltimore.
Five more minutes of listening to instrumental music.
Finally an intelligent-sounding voice, a woman, came on the phone. “Regional Security, Rivkin here.”
“Look, Rivkin here, I run the glider operation? At Mid-Maryland Soaring? At Gathistown? Maryland. ‘bout 60 miles west a D.C., you know?”
“How can I help you, Mizz, sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Ya didn’t catch it cause I didn’t toss it. Look, ma name don’t matter none. I gotta tell ya ‘bout somethin’ fishy what just happened.”
“I need your name to complete my report, ma’am. It’s regulations.”
“Well, I don’t wanna give ya ma name. It ain’t none a yer bizness. Do ya wanna hear what I gotta say or not?”
“I can’t take a report without a name. I’m sorry, I must insist on a name. That’s regulation, ma’am.”
CLICK.