Please Mind Your Business Class

Okay, first of all, I don't always get bumped up from Coach. But, now that I am in the American Airlines Million Mile Club, it happens more frequently. Nothing pleases me more than the gate attendant calling me up to the desk. And not because I'm trying to smuggle an extra large tube of Nivea Hand Cream on the plane. You just know that a new seat assignment is waiting for you. Thank you, Ma'am. No need to worry now about deciding which food I do not want for purchase. I will be eating and it will be edible. Sometimes damn good. The lunch antipasto that AA offers up is particularly tasty.

Now, crossing the country as much as I do, you do get to see and recognize some folks in Business and First Class. Hmm, let's see. I was one row behind Geraldine Ferraro, who was feverishly checking her computer on the day that the Elliot Spitzer scandal broke. I have been three rows removed from Jon Voight two different times. No big deal since I see him around the neighborhood in LA all the time.

More? Molly Shannon was eight months pregnant sitting behind me and I kept looking down at my feet to make sure there were no ambiotic puddles forming. Robert Pastorelli from "Murphy Brown" was in front of me with his girlfriend and baby. Since I knew some of the folks he had worked with on Murphy, I thought about getting into a dialogue. I didn't. A year later, said girlfriend was killed maybe by him. He killed himself a little later on. Wise decision, Len, not to get involved.

And still more? I was seated right next to Hollywood director Michael Apted for an entire flight. How did I know it was him? Don't leave your ticket stub in the magazine pouch while you go to the bathroom because I can easily read upside down.

One early morning out of LAX, the flight attendants were making a huge fuss over my seatmate. "Enjoy your work on television" was repeated over and over and over. The only problem was that I didn't know who the hell it was. Except that the guy was a total slob and smelled like his last bath was at his baptism. When I was getting off the plane in NY, I absolutely had to know who this pig was. I asked one of the crew. It was Carson Kressley, then very famous for "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy." How a gay guy has such poor hygiene is beyond me.

A common thread amongst all these anecdotes? I never said a word to them. And they never said a word to me. Gracias and merci beaucoup. And when it comes to in-flight conversation, my limitations don't stop at the ordinary celebrity. If you're a nobody sitting next to me, I can't be bothered either.

Indeed, the only flight where First Class spoke to each other a lot was on a JFK-bound flight. September 20, 2001. There were about five of us upfront, scared shitless. The scaredy cats included actor Timothy Busfield from "The West Wing" and "Thirtysomething." We all chatted across the country. If any of us had stopped, we would have thought about what we were doing at the time. And start to worry all over again. By the way, Busfield was a really cool guy.

And the last seatmate I ever spoke to. I get on a plane and the earplanes immediately go in. As soon as I can, the Bose headphones go on. My movie or book comes out. I am in my own world. And that certainly doesn't include the person next to me.

So, last Friday on my trip back to Los Angeles, I did not plan to deviate from my normal Len/Greta Garbo routine. I got upgraded. I boarded Business Class. I salivated at the luncheon menu. Shrimp with Spicy Thai Sauce? Yummers. I buried my head into the world of Bose and noted that the window seat next to me was still unoccupied. Hmm. It's rare for a premium spot to go unfilled. I started to worry about the annoying Japanese businessman who would rush onto the plane at the very last minute. An asshole, to be sure.

Not so.

As I have discovered of late, when there is a Business or First Class seat destined to be vacant, airlines will bump up military personnel to that status. My own Marine-entrenched pseudo nephew has had this very experience. A young guy raced down the aisle. The buzz cut and military sweatshirt were dead giveaways. He was the big winner today in Seat 9-J. Good for him. I still turned up the volume on my iPod as he settled in next to me. Get the hint, Private?

But, as he buckled his seat belts, my attention level was raised. He called the flight attendant over and told her that he was available to her if she needed any help. It turns out the kid was an Army medic, back from the Middle East and headed to his brother's house in Hermosa Beach for some much needed R & R.

Even the most isolated and stiffest of passengers, specifically yours truly, couldn't ignore this. I took off my headphones.

And broke my longstanding rule. I started a conversation.

The kid grew up in Ossining, NY. We had common ground. Not that an icebreaker was needed. The guy was polite, engaging, and totally devoted to his craft. He was helping people and defending his country. Americans like me.

We compared notes about growing up in Southern Westchester as opposed to Northern Westchester. We talked about Marines vs. Army. It seems that the latter does a much better job of creating a more worthwhile career than the Jarhead manufacturers. I gave him some sightseeing ideas for his stay in California.

And, then, right after our ice cream sundaes, it happened.

"Are there any medical people on this plane? It seems we have an emergency situation."

The kid didn't flinch. He got up in one fluid motion and was gone in a flash. I didn't see him again until the end of the flight.

As I later learned, some 80-year-old gentleman had suffered an "episode." It couldn't have been life-threatening as the clown was doing a Sudoku puzzle by the time we were starting our descent into Los Angeles. Meanwhile, my new Army buddy was back and writing out copious notes for the paramedics who would be meeting our plane's arrival at LAX. As I watched him pen his medical notes and discovered the name of the "sick" passenger, I mentioned it was a tough way for him to start his vacation.

"Hey, it's what I'm supposed to do."

Indeed. All of a sudden, I was happy that this young man was on duty. For his country. For all of us. I thanked him for all he is doing for this nation.

And, of course, he shrugged it all off.

"It's what I normally do."

Indeed.

As soon as our aircraft hit the gate, the passengers stayed in their seats as our Army Medic took his patient off to see the paramedics. Once disembarked, I made my way down to Baggage Claim. Outside that long corridor, one finds all the chauffeurs holding up signs for their would-be fares. I noticed one particular name on a placard being held afloat. The same name of the patient I saw on the kid's notes. Heck, I can help out here, too.

"Are you waiting for the guy on Flight 3? Well, he's gotten himself another ride."

And that's not what I normally do.

Dinner last night: Turkey sandwich.