One of the benefits of being easily frightened is that I avoid a lot of potentially painful experiences via a process I call “running like a frightened rabbit.” That came in handy today on the plane during the boarding process. I was seated in an aisle row while a klutzy guy tried to stuff his carry-on bag in the overhead bin directly above me. I heard the flight attendant yell a warning and the next thing I knew I was diving toward the window seat while the luggage bounced off the top of the seat where my head had been. I believe I screamed like a little girl being mauled by a crocodile. It just sort of slipped out.
Normally my cowardice would not be so embarrassing, but as luck would have it, the next three passengers in the aisle – the ones most closely observing this ugly situation – were soldiers in full army fatigues. They laughed and complimented me on my ducking abilities. Then they probably went to Iraq and battled insurgents. I’m just saying that the contrast wasn’t lost on anyone.
But that’s not my point. I often wonder during these random encounters with strangers if any of them are Dilbert fans. The guy that almost nailed me with his luggage had that “I work in technology” look about him, if you know what I mean. There’s some non-zero chance that he’s a Dilbert reader and has no idea he almost took me out. I wanted to tell him, just so he’d have a good story that no one would believe. “You know that Dilbert comic? I almost killed the guy that does that.”
I was once on a business trip, in my corporate days, and noticed that Grace Slick and the Jefferson Airplane were on the same flight. My coworker had a camera bag slung over his shoulder and wasn’t controlling it as he worked his way down the aisle. I got to watch him turn to say something to me and accidentally whack Grace in the back of her noggin so hard that she never again had a successful album. It might be a coincidence, but I like to think it wasn’t.
When I tell people I grew up in Windham, New York, I’m surprised how many people say they have skied at the Windham Ski Slope. Sometimes they skied there during my high school years when I worked in the ski lodge on weekends, 1974-75. I ask if they remember buying a hamburger at the snack bar. Because if they did, there’s a good chance that I was the guy who cooked it.
And if your family ever vacationed at the Sugar Maples resort in the Catskills from 1975-1979, there’s a good chance I carried your bags or poured your coffee.
Have any of you met me or hit me with blunt objects?