I was in the middle of an interview on my way to the airport with my boss.
I’d heard the news that there had been a tragic accident in the Philippines, and I wanted to go to the scene.
But the plane had been diverted to another airport because of the typhoon, and my boss was already going home.
“I don’t want to fly to Manila,” he said.
“This is my last day there.”
I was worried about my wife and two small children.
They’d had to stay at home with their grandmother in the aftermath of the storm, but that was only for the night, and they weren’t going anywhere.
I wanted my kids to be able to come home as soon as possible.
But what to do?
I had two options.
I could fly to the Philippines myself, or I could hire a crane to lift the plane off the ground.
If I wanted the crane to operate safely, I’d need a permit.
I called my husband, who was a retired pilot.
I told him to call me back at 6:00 a.m.
The next morning, he called me back.
“The crane’s fine,” he told me.
I didn’t know if I should go ahead and hire the crane, or not.
If it was a risk to my family, I could probably wait until I had the permit.
“It’s not your first flight,” he reassured me.
But it was my last flight.
When I finally got to the crane shop, I had to get a permit, and then the next day I flew back to the United States.
When the crane arrived, I was given a certificate that said I could use it for about a month.
Then, I got a phone call from the FAA.
I had three hours to go.
I knew I was going to need the crane in Manila.
I walked in the shop, put the crane on the crane stand, and was on my feet in no time.
When it came time to load the crane onto the plane, I saw a huge crowd of people in the parking lot.
“What are you waiting for?” they asked me.
The crane was already loaded and ready to go when I arrived.
I stepped off the crane and was whisked away to a VIP lounge, where I was greeted by the manager of the crane.
She told me I could stay for a day, but I needed to be there for a full day.
I said I would stay for two days, and the manager agreed.
The day I arrived at the VIP lounge was the busiest I’d ever been, because a few hours before, the company was scheduled to start loading the crane into the plane.
The first crane to load into the flight was already packed, but it was still waiting for another crane to be loaded.
That second crane was still loaded, and all the time it took for the plane to take off, people lined up to catch a glimpse of the huge crane.
The plane, which had been loaded with more than 4,000 pounds of fish, looked as if it was going up and down on a giant fishing rod.
A crane in a Philippine airport in January.
“It’s so heavy,” I told my boss, who then told me that I needed a permit to fly over the area.
When we were waiting for the crane at the airport, I told the manager I needed the crane because I needed it for the Philippines.
But I wasn’t allowed to take the crane anywhere because it was an accident waiting to happen.
The manager told me the crane would be loaded onto the airplane.
“You can go ahead, but please don’t go ahead,” she said.
That was when the real tragedy hit.
The driver of the car that was transporting the crane was hit by a truck, and he died later that morning.
My boss told me about the crane’s death and the incident that had happened.
I was stunned.
I tried to find a lawyer and call a lawyer, but they said that I would be required to prove the accident.
That would take a year, and a year of the company’s time.
“We’ll just have to take it slow and hope that this is not a big deal,” I said.
I started working at a small company in the area that specialized in commercial fishing.
I did my best to be as efficient as I could.
But on the day I was supposed to fly home, the crane finally started working.
But there was no way to stop it from loading.
“How could the crane get stuck?”
I asked my boss when I was at the crane site.
The only thing that could have stopped the crane from working was for the truck driver to have gotten out of the truck.
I went to the truck and pulled the truck over.
“Did you see him?” the trucker asked.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“Where did he go?”
“To the airport
