I drove home sitting on a soft fluffy cloud that day, feeling on top of the world. Finally after all the time and effort over the last couple of years, I was a commercial pilot.

As much as I tried to block out my worries about my future career with thoughts of how many tequila shots I was going to have with my friends that night, I couldn’t get the nagging thought out of my head “What the hell do I do now?!” 

Like many other students, I didn’t have a job lined up. I just did the work and hoped that, when the time came, it would somehow all work out for the best. 

Where to start? I couldn’t exactly walk around the shopping centre handing out resumes as I had done all my working life. I had heard about the AFAP website, yet a search revealed a scarcity of relevant positions and the only one whose minimum criteria I actually did meet was backdated a week ago and, as I soon discovered, already filled. 

I had no idea where to go from there. India, perhaps? All the Indian students recommended this option, tempting me with a first year salary that could buy two housekeepers, a personal chef and a donkey. Strangely enough, all the instructors told me to forget it. In the end no one at my school was able to help, or even point me in a realistic direction. So I did the only thing I could do. Call up every single charter company in Australia. 

After opening the yellow pages website on my shamefully slow dial-up connection I typed ‘charter companies’ into the search box, managing to complete four amendments while I waited for the results to load. I gasped as 958 entries appeared on my screen.  

Wow. I had no idea there were even that many planes in Australia let alone charter companies. This was going to be more complicated than I thought. 

Six hours later I had narrowed them down, excluding double ups, seaplanes, anything in Melbourne (I was told by numerous flight instructors not to even bother at this point), anything with turbines, jets, or the words ‘quality’, ‘service’ and ‘comfort’. Big hits in my search was anything with the words ‘scenic flights’, ‘budget’ and ‘outback’.  

‘Right, you’ll do’, I thought to myself, randomly picking out a number. And so I set out on the long and arduous task of running up my dad’s phone bill. 

I tried calling a few of the regional Victorian companies first, hoping to find something within an hour’s drive of civilization. However, the very first question I was always asked was, ‘Do you have your instructor rating?’, quickly followed by, ‘Oh? I’m sorry, we’re only looking for instructors at the moment.’ 

After a while it was evident that I would have to move further from home than I originally thought, in fact, my shortlist was made up of charter companies over three thousand kilometres away. I soon realized I would have to leave behind my family, my friends and everything I had known my whole life. It was an exciting yet frightening thought. 

The hardest part of the job hunt was cold calling and introducing myself to dozens of CPs. At first it was quite difficult trying not to sound like an epileptic hamster while explaining who I was and what I wanted. 

I prepared as best I could beforehand the witty and clever dialogue I intended to partake in with my future employers but, in spite of this, my first few fumbling conversations went something like: “Hello? I, er, Hi. I was just looking for a job. I would stammer, ‘Um, do you have any work going at the moment? That is, er any positions that would be, um, free?”  

“Sorry, who am I speaking with?,” would be the reply. 

“Oh, yeah, right, erm, my name is Sophie. I’m from Melbourne.” 

“Right, right, so what were you looking to do Sophie? We’re pretty right for admin at the moment.” 

“No, uh, I’m actually a pilot. That is to say, I have my commercial pilot’s license. Well I got it last week, so I’m looking for, well, a pilot position, as it were.” 

“Oh, right, right I see and how many hours do you have?” 

“Just over 200!” I would proudly say. 

This would usually be followed by a few seconds of silence, then, “I see, I see. If you just email through a copy of your resume to our secretary I’ll have a read over it and get back to you”.  The conversation would then inevitably end with some minor encouragement followed by some major luck wishing, after which I would never hear from them again. 

After a while I got bored with being shot down by every CP and started chatting to the employees, secretaries, ops managers, other pilots, whoever picked up the phone. I wouldn’t talk about anything in particular, about the weather in their part of Australia, their own aviation experience, or the state of business these days. 

As it turned out, about 15 minutes into a conversation with a pilot working up north, we both realized we had trained at the same school. Not only that, but he actually got his CPL and left on my first day there and somehow remembered me.

“Oh, right, you’re that brunette?” he asked, and upon my confirmation, said, “well if you went to my school, then I know you gotta be good. Let me talk to the boss, I’ll get you a job no worries.” 

Two weeks later I boarded a plane, headed north. Which really just backed up what everyone in this industry has been telling me over the last few years: a lot of the time it’s not about what you know but who you know. 

It was a night flight, yet I couldn’t sleep, and for the first time the horribly uncomfortable ‘reclining’ airline seats weren’t the problem. I was so excited when the CP had called me for an interview I didn’t ask all the questions I should have, like the accommodation conditions or the pay. I even forgot to ask if I should bring a pillow. I was just so happy that I actually got a job I wanted to get off the phone as soon as I could for fear of saying something stupid and ruining the whole thing! 

My departure was rushed at best as they needed someone immediately and I felt I was in no position to argue. All these things combined meant that I really had no idea what I was doing. However, the thought of actually being paid to fly a plane as opposed to emptying my pockets each time I wanted to take to the skies overshadowed any reservations.

Many gruelling hours later the small jet finally arrived. My future was looking bright and I was filled with excitement as I entered the relatively small airport. My plan was simple; get enough hours to be employed by a company down south.

The automated doors of the cool air-conditioned airport terminal opened before my bag- laden arms and my bold optimistic smile was knocked right off my face as a brick wall of heat hit me square in the jaw. “Oh my god!” I gasped. “Have I walked into a sauna?” I looked at my watch - it was two in the morning. That couldn’t be right! If it was this hot now what was it like in the day time? 

My clothes quickly became soaked, the humidity penetrating every strand of fabric. How do people live here!? I wondered. But, more importantly, how was I ever going to survive?