You know how you’re
always reading in gossipy magazines about some down and out actor/writer/singer
who’s on a plane, minding his own business when suddenly he discovers the
passenger next to him is a famous director/editor/producer?
They start talking and by the end the plane touches
down in Monte Carlo (in these stories, nobody is ever flying to Penang), the
famous director/editor/producer is so impressed with the nobody
actor/writer/singer that he offers him a contract. And the next thing you know,
this nobody has a hit movie/book/album.
And in all the interviews between now and the time
he dies from a drug overdose/burnout/nervous breakdown, he’ll always be telling
this story about how if he’d been sitting in another seat or missed the flight,
none of this (and here, he would gesture around his marbled mansion or plush
Four Seasons suite) would have been possible?
Well, I’m thrilled to report that after a gazillion
flights and a magillion miles spent criss-crossing the sky, none of this
has ever happened to me and let me
tell you that I am not in the least bit impressed about it.
You would think, would you not, that I would at
least bump into the secretary to the personal assistant of some big-wig
publisher who just loves the stuff I write and tells her boss about it, who in
turn, decides that I might very well be the next Dan Brown or Stephanie Myers?
Or something.
But no, I’m usually stuck sitting next to Pete O’Mara
from Omaha, Texas who spends the entire flight from Singapore to Seattle
telling me all about his prostate problems. Somewhere over the North Pole, I will
have developed a migraine that just won’t quit.
I really don’t know how this can be. I always dress
nicely for a flight (since you’re always reading these articles about how you never
know when you might be able to get upgraded and you definitely won’t if you
dress like an incognito Hong Kong film star). I shower beforehand. I comb my
hair and floss religiously. I smile at fellow passengers and always have a copy
of the Economist peeking out from my cabin luggage to convey the impression
that I’m a fairly worldly kind of guy and that I deserve to be in Business Class.
By right, I fit all the criteria of someone who is
most likely to randomly meet and strike up a life-long Emmy/Pulitzer/Grammy
award winning partnership with Steven Spielberg or George Clooney.
And yet, I’ve never met anyone remotely famous on
the plane. Well, except for that time I sat five rows behind some government
minister who, for some reason, was slumming it in economy class, but even then,
I was so jealous at the amount of attention he was getting from the crew.
Meanwhile, one of my best friends, Andrew, who is a
big shot lawyer, regularly emails me and tells me who he meets in various
airports around the world. For example, an average email might read, “I was in
the First Class Lounge the other day at Milan airport and who should be sitting
across from me than Kate Moss!” (No one really liked Andrew at school. Now, I
know why.)
My flatmate Amanda once found herself sitting next
to Andy Lau. “I wonder what he was doing in Business Class,” she mused later.
“If I was him, I’d be in First Class all the time!”
Saffy later said that if Amanda goes around talking
like this, she wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Amanda has no friends
left.
I suspect my complete lack of success has something
to do with the fact that I’m always flying Economy. That rules out meeting
anyone of note. Because if you’re a VIP, or at least Someone Who Makes a
Difference to Random People’s Lives, you would expect to be sitting in, at
least, Business Class.
Which makes me wonder how those down and out
actors/writers/singers get to meet their famous fellow passengers in the first
place. Because, if those gossip magazines are anything to go by, these people
are usually out of work waitresses, waiters, petrol station attendants or
something who live in their friend’s garage or couch. How could they afford to
sit next to the VIP or SWMDRPL in the first place? Because Fann Wong does not
do Economy.
The whole thing is so unfair. A seat number is all
that separates me from my much deserved fame and fortune. My advice: be alert
and vigilant with your CV ready. Because you never know who you’re going to be
sitting next to. Why, it could be Fann Wong’s maid. But it’s a start.
2 comments:
urban legend dude. like how the girls from SATC talked about marriage.
haha.. i've never met anyone on a plane.. i guess if u are destined to meet that someone, it could be anywhere :)
i love what u wrote about how saffy thought amanda wont have any friends left if she continues talking like that.. sometimes simply being oneself isn't going to help us keep whatever friends we have left:p
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