Air Force Lets Media Wet Pants

On Wednesday some guys with crew cuts strapped me into a big can, spun me upside down and tried to drown me.

The U.S. Air Force calls it training.

The Mafia essentially does the same thing when they stick a stool pigeon in the trunk of a Pontiac and drive it off a pier.

“Mayday. Mayday. Moby Doug is going doooowwwn!!”

My brush with watery doom took place in the pool at Fairchild Air Force Base’s new aquatic center. The Air Force invited foolhardy members of the media to take a ride on a machine that simulates a helicopter ditching in the ocean.

“Helicopters have a nasty habit of turning upside down when they hit the water,” said Master Sgt. Pat Cox, a hard-muscled instructor who looked like he could chew his way out of a crashed chopper.

The trainer is called a METS, a bulky blue and white apparatus that looks like a cross between a lunar landing module and a Spokane city bus. The Air Force leases the thing from a company for 90 grand a year.

METS stands for Modular Egress Training Simulator. It is, Cox says, the state-of-the-art device for teaching servicemen how to escape a downed copter.

The METS can be adjusted to simulate the windows and doorways of a number of aircraft. Or even a John Deere wheat thresher for all I know.

I had trouble paying attention to Cox’s lecture. My mind kept wandering back to the 5,000-pound device suspended over the pool like Ted Kennedy’s car.

The METS can be lowered and raised and, worst of all, rolled 180 degrees so that luckless riders go into the drink upside down.

Sometimes, just for fun, Cox turns off all the lights to completely disorient his hapless trainees. There are unconfirmed rumors about sharks being released.

“We haven’t lost anybody yet,” Cox said merrily, looking me over the way a salvage yard attendant might assay an abandoned heap. “Although you might be the first.”

I went on this junket to relay some valuable information about our Air Force. Plus the possibility of seeing some hot TV news babes sporting the latest in summer thong wear.

Unfortunately, Cox made all the media people wear flight suits, which were about as revealing as a nun’s habit.

“Looks like Doug’s got his own padded suit,” said KXLY’s Kerry Tomlinson, pointing cruelly at my love handles.

Hey, Kerry, did you know broadcast journalism is a contradiction in terms?

But I digress. After getting into our flight suits, we had to take a practice ride in a small floating cage. They strapped us to a chair and then rolled the cage over to see if we would scream for our mammas at being upside down underwater.

I went first for two reasons:

1. Television dweebs take forever to get their makeup just right or, in the case of NBC’s “Dateline,” hook remote-controlled explosives to automobile gas tanks.

And 2. If you go first it’s hard for the TV droids to make fun of you since they’re all nervous about having to do it, too.

Mercifully, I didn’t embarrass myself. Well, other than the fact that the seat belt didn’t want to fit around my padded suit.

But I survived. Then it was on to the METS.

Buckled into the pilot’s seat, Staff Sgt. Joel Emerson guided me through the steps I needed to follow in order to save my life:

Left hand on left knee. Left hand on door latch. Pull door latch. Left hand on door jam. Right hand unbuckles seat belt. Left hand clutches rosary beads. Right hand goes to throat. Lungs fill with water.

Listen for muffled sounds of Kerry Tomlinson laughing…

Again I surprised myself. I followed instructions. I didn’t panic. I swam to safety after crashing my first simulated helicopter.

Next week they’re going to hold my simulated court martial.