There's the Good ... and then there's EC

There's a reason that controllers are forced to retire before they reach their 56th birthday. It's because, as we age (as everybody ages) we slow down.

Some more so than others.

So EC is working the Lansing sector, and he's got the three o'clock push into Detroit going on. While he's descending and spacing the traffic over POLAR, the inbound fix, he gets this dog of a cargo prop off the Lansing airport.

Now we all know this guy climbs like a rock so we put him on a 110 heading which will keep him far enough away from POLAR so they can get the arrivals under him, and far enough north of the departures the go out the westside gate Dunks.

Not EC. No he knows better. Thinks he's a better controller than all of us combined. He puts the slow climber on a zero-three-zero heading which aims him right at the POLAR arrivals.

It takes him a while to notice that the guy is climbing poorly. In fact, the guy is coming together with a turboprop that's inbound to Detroit. (I'm not plugged in with him so I'm only picking up his side of the communications).

"Iron Air eighteen, expedite your climb through one-four thousand."

"Iron Air eighteen, turn left heading three-three-zero."

Well he figures he's solved the problem and goes back to switching guys to Detroit and all. A couple of minutes pass, and it finally sinks into his head that the Iron Air is coming together with the next prop for Detroit.

"Iron Air eighteen, right turn heading zero-seven-zero."

He watches for a few hits, then goes back to what he's doing. Next thing I know I hear him saying:

"Iron Air eighteen, fly heading one-two-zero."

I'm rolling my eyes because the Iron Air is being driven all over the sky for no reason.

"Iron Air eighteen, turn immediately to heading three-four-zero."

Okay, "Immediatley" is our last reserve word. You just don't use it unles someone is going to die.

"Iron Air eighteen, turn right immediately to zero-two-zero."

WFT? I flip on the receiver for his frequency at my sector, and "quick look" him.

He's got the Iron Air jammed between two props, within five miles of the guy on his left, and turing towards the guy on his right.

"Iron Air eighteen, are you in the turn?"

"Roger."

I watch as Iron Air flies within four miles of the other prop. Never in danger, but closer than our rules allow.

"Iron Air, you're not doing a very good job of it."

"Neither are you Center."

Okay, I started laughing my ass off at that one, cause the Iron Air had it right.