On the ship, we wore coveralls. They were designed to be easily donned in the event of battle stations or, more realistically, being late for watch. The newest variant is even fire retardant so they won’t melt to our skin in the event of a casualty. Fires happen onboard ships a lot more often than you might think, so thanks, Navy! They’re also a very dark blue – one might say Navy blue – for an important tactical purpose: if we were to fall overboard, we would be completely camouflaged with the ocean and thus impossible to visually locate, quickly freeing us from our miserable contracted servitude as we sink down to Davy Jones’ cold, dark locker and are united at last with our father King Neptune.
Too much? Sorry, a lot happened last year. No worries, though; I’m in aviation now. In this community, the most danger I’m regularly exposed to is Taco Tuesday and an unbelievable amount of whining.
Anyway, what makes a flight suit different is that it was designed to have pockets that can be comfortably and easily utilized while sitting, which makes sense, because flying is mostly just sitting still for many hours. Seated accessibility: isn’t that the sexiest idea you’ve ever heard? It didn’t get the screen time it deserved in Top Gun.
So what does one do when she has so much holding space on her person ready to be utilized at any time? Look no further: here is the stuff I keep in my pockets when I fly.
- Can you imagine starting your workday with your supervisor checking your clothing to make sure your ID card is in your left breast pocket? We’ve got a regulation for everything. Welcome to the United States Navy, FORGED BY THE SEA! I don’t follow this rule in the other working uniform, but by some convenient accident, it happened naturally with this one. Also here: dogtags, earplugs, chapstick, one or two of the 300 Splenda packets I packed for deployment. Look, this is war. You have to be prepared.
- The right breast pocket is my dedicated utensil drawer. Someone once asked around the plane if anyone had an extra spoon, and I pulled them all out in a flourish and handed one over. “Do you mind a pocket spoon?” I asked. He didn’t. I guess this is who I am now: a plastic cutlery hoarder. Sometimes they stab me in the sides, or I break them in half if I move around too much. Worth it. You never know when you might need to snack, and snacking is 99% of my in-flight tasking.
- Under the flap, you’ll find slots for pens. I keep one (1) pen in there. I saw another flier stick a spare fork in the other slot. The flap won’t close over it, so he had a fork sticking out of his sleeve. This is a very distinguished look. One piece of plastic conveys an impressive message: anytime, anywhere.
- This is where I keep my bullet journal/external brain, which contains my planner and flight notes. No jokes on this one: bullet journaling is very good and useful. Okay, one joke: use of the word “bullet” makes using a day planner 100% more tactical. (“Tactical” word count so far: 2)
- There’s a long pocket along the left inseam, with the bit of white string hanging out. It’s supposed to be for a knife. Doesn’t that sound cool? On the ship, I kept a multitool on my belt that I bought at the Exchange for about $30. On the plane, I carry a knife that retails for $129. This demonstrates that I am both bougie as hell and also ready to cut open a carton of soy milk at a moment’s notice. “That’s a nice knife,” I have actually been told, in real life. It was a gift from my dad, okay? You can be sentimental and tactical (3).
UPDATE: I have learned that this pocket is, in fact, for a piddle pack. This is in some ways much better and, in other ways, much, much worse.
- I didn’t know what “FUD” stood for until I started flying. Play along with me: read on and see if you can figure it out from context clues. The plane has a bathroom but we’re not supposed to use it – sort of. Understandably, no one wants the terrible job of having to clean everyone else’s dookie, so the entire community came to an agreement that pooping on the plane was restricted to trash bags, to be tied up and hung belowdecks (or whatever the plane equivalent is, I don’t know) where they will be exposed to the external temperature and freeze. This means that everyone sees you coming out of the head carrying a bag and they know immediately about your bowel-related crimes. If you have gripes about pooping in public, this is the walk of shame of your nightmares. Naturally, my sweet mother thinks this is hysterical. She is right: it is. I haven’t pooped on the plane yet (fingers crossed), but I can’t go that long without peeing. Can anyone? Women lack the requisite bodily infrastructure to pee into the portable urinal, which is removed from the plane and dumped out after flights. In comes the FUD, out goes my pee, which is at least 75% coffee. I’m proud of how skilled I’ve become at peeing while standing up; it is probably the most useful thing I’ve learned in aviation thus far, and I went through some truly buckwild training last year, so that’s saying something. Also included in this pocket is a small package of wet wipes. I’m not an animal.
- If you put anything dense in these pockets, it will bang against your shinbones while walking. For something small and heavy like a knife (!), this will actually hurt quite a bit. I fold up my ball cap and flight gloves and tuck them in here. They are light enough that they move easily, at the same rate as the legs of the flightsuit itself. I often forget that they are there and then panic thinking I left my gloves behind. A time-honored military tradition is slapping various parts of your body until you find which pocket you put something in. I made that up just now – everyone does this, probably. Hopefully?
- Disregard first sentence regarding previous pocket. I keep a plastic water bottle in here and sometimes a small paperback for sneaky tactical (4) reading.
I bet you’re still reeling. Eight whole, functioning pockets – what an unimaginable luxury! All of this can be yours, too, if you make some small concessions, such as all personal autonomy and thousands of miles of physical and emotional distance between you and the people who care about you the most. Did I mention there was a pocket for a knife, though?