The Mile High Club.
Cold air was blowing up my pant leg from the vent near the rudder pedals, and I had a giant chart sprawled over me like a blanket. Sunlight poured in the cockpit. It was a beautiful day 10,500 feet over Northern Arizona.
I found myself on the way to Henderson, Nevada; a small suburb south of Las Vegas. It was only two weeks earlier my enterprising roommate asked me if I would help him with a small start up venture we codenamed “Mile High”. He’d done some maintenance work for a local gentleman flying “Romantic Scenic Flights” in the Phoenix area.
The idea came about that Phoenicians are prudes, and that the only town this could be wildly profitable in was Las Vegas. We sat down, and made a checklist: We were going to launch a small business in 14 days. The itemized checklist seemed almost insurmountable; insurance, websites, 1800 numbers, flyers, landing fees. It was a veritable maze of bureaucracy.
I found myself so emotionally invested in the project that it was keeping me up at night. The logistics were particularly complicated. I also found myself wrestling with the ethical repercussions of flying in the ‘Sin Ship’. What if two guys show up? What if two chicks show up? Is it suddenly not ok to use the term “Cockpit”? I was terrified that two lesbians would show up and my carefully rehearsed “ahhhhh Ladies and Gentleman….” would become useless. All those hours in the shower wasted.
With “D-Day” rapidly approaching we made a trip to Walmart for our own version of “Pimp My Plane”. The back of the plane had to look phenomenal. This was no second rate operation, and even though neither of us had any sort of interior design experience, we were determined to create quite the love nest. We found some plush pillows, tiny bottles of champagne, a metal garbage can in which to keep said champagne, some lovely curtain fabric, and of course fake roses on a vine. It was high class.
I started to have reservations when a Mom gave me the dirtiest look of my life. It was only then that it dawned on me: here were two guys walking around Walmart in the middle of the day with Champagne, Roses, and Pillows asking each other “Do you think this will look good?”, or “Is this too tacky?” I suddenly felt compelled to start talking about Ex-girlfriends that were total whores.
The day had come, and I found myself very excited. I’ve yet to go to Vegas since I’ve been 21, and I’ve never flown there in a small plane. I felt like a major P-I-M-P. We had one goal: To get one mile high flight. It was simple. And it should have been relatively easy, but time just wasn’t on our side.
We only had one method of advertising. I had the great (at the time) idea of dressing up like pilots, finding the guys handing out gentleman club leaflets, set up shop next to them and hand out our fliers. After all, I looked like money in my Pilot getup. How could anyone say no?
Not one person said ‘No’. By the time I was done, I wished I heard more “No”s. Vegas, as a city, has a very high blood alcohol level, and this made for some particularly colorful comments. The best
I believe were:
1) From a drunk middle aged woman: “Are you the captain of the Titanic?”
2) From a woman: “Is there a draft?”
3) From a gentleman with a Mohawk: “Whoa, I get to have sex on a plane?” Me: Sure Mohawk: “Do I get to have sex with you on an airplane?!” Me: “Someone has got to fly the plane”
Nobody really got that we were dressed as pilots. Maybe it was too subtle. The best response was from middle aged woman with their friends. They were rather predictable. It usually went something like, “[Belly Laugh] Oh wow, Sharon, Look at this, THE MILE HIGH CLUB! Wouldn’t this be crazy?” Then they’d kind of shift their gaze, and give me a look that’s probably very similiar to the look that a Cheetah gives it’s prey before they pounce. It’s the kind of look that makes you want to shower.
Not for lack of trying, but we didn’t get one customer. I’m sure we could have worked out something if my ethics were a bit more flexible, but I wasn’t about to take one for the team. I won’t be Cheetah bait.
We tore it up Saturday night in Vegas at the Voodoo Lounge on top of the Rio. If you’ve never 
been to the place, It’s awesome. I highly recommend it. I woke up very hung over on Sunday, and we didn’t get the wheels up until after 3. When we finally made it back to Phoenix I was ragged; It was super choppy on the way back. After some sleep, I felt better and could reflect on the experience as a good one.
If you happen to find yourself in the Las Vegas Metropolitan area, and are looking for a Romantic Scenic Flight, I would highly encourage you to check out www.LasVegasMileHigh.com or call 1-888-Mile-Hi-7 for more information.