So, I'm showing off my new (used) Q and piloting skills yesterday to my older brother, who was in town overnight. My two boys and a friend were there too. I had really been hyping the Q in texts/pics since I got it. This was my moment to shine, perhaps with a subliminal smack of sibling rivalry.
I launch from the driveway. He's in awe of the Q's size and ease of the takeoff. I'm hovering at 30 ft confidently showing him the video feed and explaining the controller. I don't know jack, but to him I'm Tom Cruz in Top Gun.
"Now watch this," I say and hit full throttle up and forward in rabbit mode. I could hear his awe.
But within seconds, a proverbial piss was running down my leg. Something dropped from the drone and was about to kiss the concrete. I realize it's the freaking camera. In the 3 seconds before it crashed, time froze. The moment became forever. It felt like I was living an entire tortured lifetime. Like a nutcase, I start internally soothing and abusing myself like Smigel staring at Frodo and the ring. "What did I do? You didn't secure the gimbal, idiot. At least it will still fly! It's worthless now, moron. Should I buy a new camera?! Yea, dumbass, go pick the cash off our money tree. It was just a newbie mistake! They'll laugh at us forever, f---face."
The sound of the crash brought me back to reality. But it sounded like a bounce, not the smash and splinter sound I expected the fragile gimbal to make. And it did bounce -- many times. My 11-year-old bolts to pick it up. He runs back and shows me a perfectly intact gimbal protector. Not a crack, not a scratch. An orgasmic relief. The end.
I launch from the driveway. He's in awe of the Q's size and ease of the takeoff. I'm hovering at 30 ft confidently showing him the video feed and explaining the controller. I don't know jack, but to him I'm Tom Cruz in Top Gun.
"Now watch this," I say and hit full throttle up and forward in rabbit mode. I could hear his awe.
But within seconds, a proverbial piss was running down my leg. Something dropped from the drone and was about to kiss the concrete. I realize it's the freaking camera. In the 3 seconds before it crashed, time froze. The moment became forever. It felt like I was living an entire tortured lifetime. Like a nutcase, I start internally soothing and abusing myself like Smigel staring at Frodo and the ring. "What did I do? You didn't secure the gimbal, idiot. At least it will still fly! It's worthless now, moron. Should I buy a new camera?! Yea, dumbass, go pick the cash off our money tree. It was just a newbie mistake! They'll laugh at us forever, f---face."
The sound of the crash brought me back to reality. But it sounded like a bounce, not the smash and splinter sound I expected the fragile gimbal to make. And it did bounce -- many times. My 11-year-old bolts to pick it up. He runs back and shows me a perfectly intact gimbal protector. Not a crack, not a scratch. An orgasmic relief. The end.