A national magazine sent a photographer to cover a massive forest fire. When he got there, the smoke was so dense he couldn’t get clear shots. In a rush, he phoned his office and asked them to arrange a plane. His editor promised, “Don’t worry—it’ll be waiting for you at the airport.”
Sure enough, when he arrived at the small rural airstrip, a plane was already running on the runway. He grabbed his gear, jumped in, and shouted, “Let’s go, let’s go!” The pilot taxied into the wind and lifted off.
“Head to the north side of the fire,” the photographer instructed. “I need a few low passes.”
The pilot frowned. “And why would we do that?”
“Because I’m here to take pictures! I’m a photographer—that’s what I do!”
After a moment of silence, the pilot muttered, “Wait… you’re not my student?”
