When I was a wee lad, I was interested in all things airplane. Once I took a plane trip across the country with my mother. As I looked out at the wing, staring at the terrain and clouds below, I noticed a small stream of liquid coming out of a seam in the wing, running along the edge and vaporizing into the slipstream. Cool, a fuel leak!
I excitedly asked my mom if we could call the flight attendant (“stews” in those days) and point out the fairly substantial stream of fuel. My mother, panic stricken, agreed. Shortly after, the first officer arrived to take a look. He confirmed the leak and thanked us for piping up. I was prouder than a prized pig at the county fair.
My flush of enthusiasm led me to write a glowing review of the crew and the flight on a little survey card in the seat pocket. I was amazed that the crew read them! After all, weren’t they just supposed to turn them into their management 
The result of my survey was an ice cream and a treasured trip to the cockpit to see the “front office” of the Douglas DC-10 we were on. Wow!
