Without a doubt, my favorite word in any language (not that I speak any others). I’ve been criticized for my consistent use of it for as long as I can remember, yet from the school-yard to the drop zone, I defy you to give me a word anywhere near as eloquent and to the point. Yes, eloquent … It’s also the only word I know of that can be used to make up an entire sentence almost on its own.
“Fuck dude … Did you see that fuckin’ fucker fuck that shit up? That shit was FUCKED!”
Makes complete sense, doesn’t it? Not exactly a sterling use of the English language to be sure, but to pretty much anyone, anywhere, that sentence is quite easy to understand. In my opinion, there’s no other word that can allow you to express yourself more with less and that’s why you’ll find it strategically placed in absolutely every article I’ve written to date. So why, knowing how widely used by all walks, and how accepted and expected its use is in “extreme” lifestyles, does a little four-letter arrangement of symbols cause such a stir? It’s almost like the word fuck is a politician running for office. On each side you’ll find staunch supporters for it, and fervent opponents against it, and it’s difficult to get people to sway one way or the other (publicly). Yet just like the old saying “there’s no atheists in foxholes,” I have yet to meet anyone who doesn’t have a good old fashioned “FUCK” in ‘em under times of stress.
She was about the most proper woman I’d ever met. She showed up to the drop zone in khaki slacks, ironed meticulously with a crease that could cut paper, a crisp clean white shirt buttoned all the way up, a knit light blue sweater and a pair of very sensible shoes. The only jewelry she wore was a thin gold chain outside her blouse with a small gold cross hanging from it. She spoke very quietly, almost bordering on a whisper, avoided eye contact whenever possible, and was quite obviously very uncomfortable on camera. Getting the pre-jump interview done was painful to say the least, and I did my best to keep it short and sweet. I expected the jump to go pretty much on par with the interview, and settled in to the camera seat in the 206 for a quick nap.
The hook-up before the jump went pretty much as expected, with her turning bright red knowing she was being filmed while some “man” did things behind her that she not only didn’t understand, but obviously considered quite suspect. This all made the aircraft interview even worse than the ground one was. “Ready to jump??” I said with fake enthusiasm. The only response I got was a curt nod …
I climbed out on the strut of the 206 and got myself ready for the exit. I watched as she obediently did as her instructor told and placed her foot on the step next to his. I watch as she firmly grips her harness in anticipation of the impending disaster her eyes said she expected, then, I shifted my attention to the instructor’s shoulders to cue on the rollout. “Ready, set, go!” As they left the plane I, just like the instructor, was much more focused on the exit than on the condition or antics of the student, so as the pair turned toward me after the drogue had been tossed, I got the shock of my life! This prim, proper and all together forgettable ghost of a woman had turned into a complete raging animal!
“FUCK FUCK FUCK!!! Fucking fuuuuuuucck! THIS SHIT IS FUCKING AWESOME!! Fuck yeah! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!” It just kept coming and coming … Over the years I’ve gotten pretty damn good at lip reading, just as every camera flyer I know has, but you didn’t need to be able to read lips to see what she was saying. Her lips, coupled with the two very prominent middle fingers being shoved vigorously toward my camera made it very clear. It went on for the entire freefall!
“FUUUUUUUUKKKkkkkkk” was the word quite obviously on her lips as the canopy opened and I fell away, quite simply too shocked even to laugh. I must have had a pretty strange look on my face as I stood on the ground waiting for her arrival, ‘cause Danny Koon took one look at me and said “Damn Dean … What happened, man? Crazy jump or what?” All I could come up with was “Danny boy, I’m not really sure what I just saw but … I gotta see this fucking video!”
Then she came in for a landing. She wasn’t screaming profanities at me anymore, nor was she flipping me off. There was no doubt that she was still pretty excited, and had a big smile on her face as she and her instructor came to a sliding stop in front of me in the landing area.
“So take off your goggles and tell me what exactly you thought of that!?!”
Her instructor helped her pull the goggles from her face, and I swear it was like watching a scene from a movie. As the elastic cleared her faced, she blinked once or twice in embarrassment, not at her antics on the skydive, but quite obviously at the camera in her face, forced herself to glance once or twice at me, change her posture back into the proper little lady she had been only 30 minutes before and said, “That was quite a nice experience. Thank you very much.” And walked the fuck away.
It’s this story and so many more I’m sure you’ve read that make people feigning disgust over the use of a so-called “bad word” that has me using them more than ever. I, like a lot of people I know, don’t think there’s a damn thing wrong with the occasional good ‘ol fashioned “FUCK,” and I applaud its proper use whenever the mood strikes! I don’t believe for an instant that there is any such thing as a bad word, knowing from personal experience that I can make “ma’am” or “sir” sound just as nasty as “asshole.” So the next time someone starts giving you a hard time for dropping the occasional “F Bomb,” just smile widely and say, “Sorry about that … SIR!” [team_member image_url=”123875″ name=”The Fuckin’ Pilot” role=”Monthly Columnist”]About the author: The Fuckin’ Pilot has more than 8,500 hours of flight time; 5,000 of those have been piloting jump ships for skydiving. [/team_member] [products_mixed layout=”listing” orderby=”ID” order=”asc” ids=”26630,121868″ title=”Get more like this!”]