We get overlooked and taken for granted, us aerospace techies. Most of the time, we don’t say much. We just plug along, design a few widgets (which happen to form part of an airborne inanimate object), write a few documents (o-kay, a lot of documents), attend a few boring meetings (o-kay, a lot of boring meetings), and send a lot (read: a lot) of emails.
Sometimes we shout in those meetings, and once or twice in a career we might even punch somebody. But mostly, we just let our noggins collide over the problem at hand, play Death by Powerpoint, and make the occasional decision. Towards the end, we pour ourselves another cup of 10W40 from the thermos and wonder if there are any doughnuts left. Then we drift back to the desk (Nope, none left), flip up the laptop, send a few more viruses by email, and around 4.30 when the office quiets down, start to get some work done.
All of it, however, has the advantage of having flying machines as the general subject matter. That covers a lot of sins. (Heck, we could be working in an insurance company! Poor guys. How can they look themselves in the mirror in the morning?) We can all remember those first flights. I always sleep very soundly after those.
We’re a rather understated and conservative bunch, us aerospace techies. So if we’re overlooked and taken for granted . . . . . perhaps we’re our own worst enemies.
It’s time to fix that.
It’s time we started thinking and acting like people that matter.
Like an aerospace nation?
No nerds, no birds.