lifehappens

I Have Yet Another Story and A Moral Thereof!

Posted on by thependulumswings staff

The best way to bump into celebrities is to live in Los Angeles.  The second best way is to travel to and from there frequently.   It was on a return trip from there that this writer very nearly chest bumped an “A lister.”

Another early AM Friday flight from LA  to Houston had boarded.  The week was done for the most part.  Luckily, I was bumped up to first class as a bonus on the bon voyage.  Before taking my seat in 1D I quickly saw that the overhead storage space directly over the row didn’t exist due to the curvature of the fuselage.  Being a bit of an alpha, I seized the opportunity to put my roller bag over row 2 just behind me.  What about the needs of the folks in row 2 you ask?  What about them I ask?

I settled in with The Wall Street Journal in hand; actually in two hands.  This was back when newspapers actually still went to print.  The hubbub, yapping, inefficiency, and general incivility of 250 humans boarding a plane was all around me.  Immersed in the paper, it was all just white noise to me.  It’s far better that way to remain somewhat sane truth be told.

With that as the backdrop I barely heard, and it really didn’t register with me, that a pair of first class flight attendants were at work in the galley as one remarked to the other that “it sounds like we have a VIP on board.”  This could be most anyone including United brass or a dead head trip friend, etc.  I stayed buried in The Journal.

Wheels up, a movie on the tiny screen, a breakfast, some computer work, and wheels down three hours later summarizes my time in the cylindrical 550 mph tin can.  A luggage grab, a stroll to the parking garage, a drive home, and a conference call is all that stood between me and a big time weekend.

That luggage grab would be like threading a needle though as I needed to walk backwards to get it.  The alpha in me said that I should bull rush the oncoming traffic, stifle it, and grab the bag versus waiting for a slow moment in the mad exit dash from the row or rows behind me.

As I took the hard left turn to do just that the person seated directly behind me for the entire flight headed for the aisle in the obviously opposite direction that I was.  And, because of that we both came to a full stop.  Then we met eye to eye for that uncomfortable moment that I created.  Well, it was almost eye to eye.  The gentleman was about a half-foot shorter than I.  Immediately the mind raced.  Yes.  Yes.  I cannot be mistaken.  Yes it is.  It was none other than George Clooney.  Oh yes I did, I flat out stymied George.

It felt like I had a pair of eyes on my back through the Jetway.  Once in the terminal a fellow passenger strode by and asked if I knew that was George Clooney.  I decided to stay alpha and went the humorous route, or so I thought.  I asked him “more importantly do you think that George Clooney knew that it was me?”  It was an odd stare back for sure. It was a bit awkward all around all over again really.

Oh, what’s the moral of the story?  Keep your luggage close and your A List friends closer.  Or, vice versa.

 

I Have Yet Another Story and a Moral Thereof.

Posted on by thependulumswings staff

As a business professional newbie the excitement for my first ever sales meeting trip grew by the day.  Our company had met its overall goal.  Las Vegas here we come.   And, as a bonus, individuals who met their goals were invited out a day earlier to enjoy some sun, fun, and a round of golf if you so pleased.

In 1983 the old Desert Inn, one of Vegas’ first and finest, had just completed a huge remodel.  As our taxi wheeled us onto the property everything seemed larger than life.  A coworker and I grabbed our over the shoulder bags (few are made anymore), our briefcases (even fewer are made anymore), and our golf clubs (few that hit it straight were ever made).  The long check in lines at the wide front reception area awaited.

Checking in can take forever in Vegas.  This time-lapse can be compounded if you chose the wrong line.  Why they didn’t(and some still don’t) have one line a la a bank queue is one of life’s great mysteries.  The lines were quite long.  We chose one roughly in the middle of about a dozen that each stretched a good 40 or so feet.  This made passing through the lobby a crazy cross weave through humans and their collective baggage.

Our approaching tee time left us anxious to get this done.  As each guest registered and carried their belongings away the remaining unregistered of us (sheep) picked our belongings up, moved forward one spot, and set them all down a bit closer to the coveted check in.

In the same line my buddy was right behind me.  Our banter, bragging, and betting on the coming round helped pass the time and mostly allowed us to ignore the chaos of it all.

As it was time to move up one more spot yet again I slung all of what I brought over my shoulders and picked up the case to advance.  His wisecrack made me turn back to him to get in another word.  I over did it and my golf clubs suddenly had circular momentum.  One unfortunate human was knifing through perpendicular to our line and my spot just then.  My clubs, fueled by my momentum, cut his legs right out from underneath him.  “Down goes Frazier,” Howard Cosell would have reported.

As I dropped what I owned to help my victim up from his sprawled on the marble fall I instantly saw who it was.  Good news.  It wasn’t Smokin’ Joe.  Bad news.  It was a smoking hot, Las Vegas headline entertainer named Sammy Davis Jr.  One very important member  of the famous Rat Pack lie before me clutching his leg.  Ouch.

I asked if he was alright as I helped him to his feet.  He muttered something like, “it’s all cool man.”  I wanted to ask if he was going to mention this to Frank Sinatra, another famous Rat Pack member.  And, more importantly to me at that moment, he purportedly had mafia ties.  I figured it would lighten the moment.  I reconsidered.  Instead I said, “I’m quite sorry for this.”  He nodded and plodded along, his limp barely noticeable.

Oh, what’s the moral of the story?  In show business timing is everything.  Get it right and you can knock them off of their feet.