Going to Hell

A few years ago, I woke up early on a nice, crisp September afternoon. Feeling a burst of energy, I grabbed soap, a short ladder and brushes and I headed for the airport to wash and wax the ol' airplane. My airport does not have a wash station, so I flew to a nearby one and washed the airplane there. After washing it, I flew back to dry it off in the slipstream, and then I commenced to wax it.

Washing an airplane is like washing a few cars, as airplanes have a lot more surface area than do cars. You spend part of the time on your back washing the belly and, if you have a low wing airplane, you are on your back washing the bottom of the wings. If you have a high wing, you spend the time on a ladder washing the upper side of the wings. (If you have a biplane, you do both.)

At one point, I broke for lunch and ate at the airport cafe. I finished up the job around mid-afternoon.

I got home tired and satisfied, for it was a day of good work.

And then I looked at the calendar. It was Yom Kippur.

On a day of reflection, contemplation and fasting, I had worked my ass off and I had eaten lunch. And not just any lunch, no, I had eaten a bacon-cheeseburger. On Yom Kippur.

Yep, I'm doomed.