Telling Stories at 35,000 Feet

It’s Monday morning and I’m sitting on an airplane again, headed to Ft. Myers. It’s a clear day and it’s a smooth flight. The other people on the plane are mostly reading or sleeping, that is except for the two guys behind me who seem to have bonded instantly the way people trapped in a hostage situation probably do.
I’ve had many conversations like the one I’m overhearing in bits and pieces as I write this. The thing about these in-flight conversations is I’m hard pressed to remember most of them. I do remember a 20 year old woman with tattoos all over her body but maybe that’s because she gave me some great material for a column I wrote about tattoos.
Most plane ride conversations aren’t memorable because they are merely a way to pass the time. Time constraints preclude deep philosophical exchanges. I know I’ve passed on precious little wisdom while droning on like the engines of a Boeing 737. No doubt I have received a lot more than I have given. For one thing I’m a natural interviewer. I ask lots of questions and I’ve learned that people trapped in a speeding cylinder at 35,000 feet, will often answer them. Not long ago a woman confided her doubts about a man she had recently started dating. It seemed that when they were socializing with friends, the socializing was more fun for him than the actual date with her. I have to say this time I offered sage advice. “Trust your instincts,” I said. I know. Really good stuff but don’t write it down. It was just airplane wisdom.
This morning it occurs to me that I probably could make these conversations more interesting for me and memorable for my seatmates if I create a fictional version of my life, regaling the person sitting next to me with my imaginary exploits. Why not? Most of the true stories we tell about ourselves lack drama. We often leave out the things that might expose faults or weaknesses. And it’s not like I’m ever going to see these people again. I’ll bet letting my imagination run wild would cure my not so imaginary boredom. It’s worth a try.
“Yep, I’m flying home to Ft. Myers. It’s been 30 years, four months and 13 days since I was home.”
“Really?” My seat mate is already intrigued. “Why so long?”
“Prison: Please don’t be alarmed. I did my time and I am fully rehabilitated.”
“I see. May I ask why you were in prison?”
“Well it wasn’t a white collar crime.”
“Umm, okay…so is there anybody you’re really looking forward to seeing when you get home?”
“Yeah, I’ll be paying a few people a visit,” I say with a scowl.
Maybe too wild? I have this vision of my companion trying to distract me while he reaches for the flight attendant call button. Not exactly what I had in mind. Perhaps I should dial it back a bit until I get the hang of the tall tale.
“I see you’re reading the Wall Street Journal. I can’t help feeling a bit of nostalgia just looking at that headline.”
“Which one?”
“The one about Kellogg’s posting smaller profits than expected. When I ran that company we were very successful. Believe it or not, you’re sitting next to the guy who came up with Cocoa Puffs. Yes, I was sitting on a flight just like this one, doodling on a cocktail napkin, when the idea to add cocoa to Kix cereal occurred to me.”
“Excuse me, but I’m sure I ate Cocoa Puffs when I was a kid and I’m even older than you are. And isn’t Cocoa Puffs a General Mills cereal?”
Wow, this fake life story stuff is harder than I thought. Perhaps a little homework is in order. After all, I have a responsibility to my fellow travelers. There’s nothing worse than having to sit next to someone on a long flight after you’ve exposed him as a charlatan. Especially if he could just as easily be a guy that pretended to be a dangerous criminal on his last flight.
I wonder if anybody has ever told me a fabricated life story between Newark and Nashville? And would I be offended if I knew it? I doubt it. Truth is rarely a necessary ingredient of a good story. If it was, cable news ratings would be underwater. Listen: I’m flying again next week. If you’re on my flight, lay one on me. I’ll try to come up with better lies for you, honest.

Copyright 2010, Len Serafino. All rights reserved.