Flying With Geena Davis
I sat next to Geena Davis on a plane once, and I am a little embarrassed to tell this story because it's anti-climactic and makes neither one of us look very good. I used to fly a lot for work, and occasionally I'd get upgraded to first class (or "Business Class" as we prefer to call it), usually when I was flying stand-by on a red-eye or taking a first flight out at times so early that you could still smell the strippers' perfume and vomit in the backseats of graveyard cabs. This was one of those rare instances when I was flying mid-day from George Bush to John Wayne (Houston to Orange County), and a male stewardess (steward?) came and found me in coach ("Economy Class") to inform me that I was being upgraded. I am strongly compelled to say that this is a very cool moment if you've ever experienced it. There's a special kind of look you get from the other coach passengers that's painfully priceless, where each wince or transcendent glance seems to be dedicated entirely to resisting the inclination to envy you. You realize from the flip-book of turned heads that try to avoid direct eye contact while sizing you up, that to the other passengers it's as though you've just been knighted and are now being whisked away to some mystical palace full of treasure and mead, while they will be forced to stay behind to try to split the precious few atoms of legroom between their personal item and their seemingly gigantic feet. However, the absolute best part of this experience is when you see the other side of the curtain; the faces of the people who paid full price for their first class ticket and are now being subjected to one of the peasants from the back, who in addition to breaking rank, is probably carrying dysentery or some other unseemly communicable pox. There is also the precious realization that seems unanimously shared in one giant cartoon thought bubble above the entire "First Class" area, that not only will you now be getting the same warm champagne and hot towel that they paid an extra $1000 for (for free), but also, for one special someone, a double-take and double-dose of disappointment when they realize that they will no longer be getting both seats to themselves. This one special someone that day happened to be Geena Davis. Now I will say that this was a rare instance for me, because I typically have *terrible* luck when it comes to airplane neighbors. Just for a few examples, I've sat next to crying babies, whooping-coughers, nuns (on two separate occasions), a man who couldn't fit into his seat, a man with a disgusting habit of picking at whatever skin condition he had, and Roseanne. However, knowing that I was encroaching on Geena Davis' personal space made me want to talk to her, and kind of validate myself to assure her that this was somehow a good thing - that I was one of the good ones. Unfortunately for me, however, I kind of stumbled and lost all grasp of all my social skills - I had no idea whatsoever how to break the ice. This was not a case of me being star-struck, but rather a different kind of peculiar moment where you just don't know what to say to Geena Davis when you know you're about to spend the next three hours with her, and in many ways, she already despises you. I regained some sense of clarity and mumbled out a friendly "Hi," and gave her a half-smile, followed by an apologetic gesture with my hands, and then a facial expression that attempted to emote "I know this is awkward, but what are ya gonna do?" I don't remember if she even said hello back. As I got comfortable in my seat, next to Geena Davis, I started to notice things about her. First of all, she has a very unique face; large, pale, with geologic outcrops that make her cheeks and chin stand out in the same way that my stereotypical Jewish nose does. I also noticed that she is significantly taller than I am, or at least that her shoulders were much higher than mine, her legs were longer, and her head was, as I said before, rather gargantuan. She was kind of dressed down in a frumpy outfit, so even though I recognized her, I kind of suspected that she might be, in her mind at least, wearing a disguise. She was wearing a really unflattering hat, an oversized smock of a blouse, no makeup, and a plum-colored pair of velour sweatpants that didn't really fit her in a flattering way. It was kind of jarring because I actually used to find her attractive in films. I remember thinking to myself "So this is what Geena Davis looks like now," and then immediately realizing that in all actuality, this is what Geena Davis probably always looked like, at least when she was out of the limelight (in bed, for instance, waking up after a night of passionate foreplay followed by three seconds of sex). The other thing I immediately remember thinking is "I can't remember a single movie Geena Davis ever did." I tried to remember, but her film repertoire wasn't even close to being on the tip of my brain's tongue. I thought for a second that she might have been in the movie "Heat," but then my subconscious film buff superego slapped my id and ego simultaneously into realizing that there were practically no women in "Heat," and that I must have been thinking of something else, which caused a panic feeling to rush through my chest. As this panic seemed to worsen, I started to feel like maybe I was becoming star-struck after all for Geena Davis. Then it hit me: The more I tried to remember her film repertoire, the more I realized that not only was I drawing a complete blank on her past movie credits, but that I wasn't even sure if she was still famous; that is, that I didn't and don't watch enough television or go to the movies enough to know whether I was sitting next to a red giant, or if she was actually an emanating supernova at the peak of her career. This did not help me come up with anything to say to her. As the plane took off and we were allowed to recline our seats and use our approved electronic devices, she didn't move. She had no book to read, no laptop computer, no iPod, no magazine - just the contents of the seat pocket in front of her, which were clearly going to remain untouched on this trip (sorry, SkyMall and airsick bag). The stewardess (or a female steward) came and asked us both, at the same time, "anything to drink?", and for one bizarre moment, it was like we were a couple, like we were traveling together with nothing to entertain us but our own faded romance and the gentle hum of turbine engines and the sweeping hiss of forced dry air. Geena broke this moment and quickly replied "No thanks." I recognized her voice a little, it was familiar to me, or at least I felt like it was. I asked for my usual (a Cranberry-Apple Juice, the whole can, no cup, no ice), which I almost always have to repeat because asking for the whole can, no cup, no ice is something people just don't do. What I don't understand is why people would want a tiny plastic cup full of oversized ice tubes that make your drink impossible to sip (without making lip contact with the jagged edges of the ice), especially when the cans come directly out of a refrigerator that is already kept colder than any household fridge. Also, I have had far too many tiny plastic cups spill on me (or at least my tray table) when all that's left is mostly-melted ice. She handed me the can, I shook it up, which you are, by the way, absolutely supposed to do with juice in a can - it says so on the instructions. This behavior has often drawn some extremely scared looks from past passengers because nearly all people share the same phobia for heavily shaken cans. Geena, however, didn't flinch. One other strange thing about Geena Davis on the plane was that she didn't even recline her first class seat, which to me meant that she wasn't even going to take a nap or get comfortable. Geena Davis was going to sit next to me for the next three hours blinking her eyes, breathing, thinking, and remaining seated in the full and upright position, with her tray-table closed and her seatbelt securely fastened. Now I had to say something: "Do you know what movie they're showing?" "No clue." I put on my headphones and went to sleep. We never spoke again.
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