As a C-130 pilot in the Air National Guard, I drive to my base several times a month for practice flights, wearing my flight suit. On the way home late one night, my car's engine quit, and I coasted to a stop within sight of an isolated farmhouse.
When I knocked on the door, a young woman answered. "I was on my way home from the Guard air base, but ran out of gas," I explained, holding up a one-gallon gas can to make my predicament clear. "May I use your telephone?"
The woman stared at my flight suit and stammered, "But where did you land?"
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