FACEBOOK WINGS ON AMERICAN AIRLINES

In Sky Harbor, Phoenix AZ, a chance meeting if you believe in chance meetings. Or facebook voodoo. We met ten years ago at Willamette Writers conference over a few Shock Tops. He had a thriller in the works, I had a screenplay. Now I’ve got a memoir in the works and he’s ready to crank out pages.

I stood across the concourse, the airport hallway, from my check in studying my boarding pass with Group Nine printed on the bottom right side.

Group Nine is last to board, last to sit, and last to find an overhead bin for the carry-on.

Luckily my wife and I were flying Budget Econo, a rate the doesn’t allow a carry-on, only an ‘under the seat bag.’

Navy flyer, airline captain, and writer. Is there a better combination? One of his kids will be a pilot, too.

We fly on the cheapest ticket in the air. Since I’ve had a great record of bad seats no matter what, and first class is too classy, it’s Budget Econo or Basic Econo.

I’m not afraid of the seat in the back corner against the toilet wall with the lady in the seat ahead falling asleep and letting her arm dangle back and knock against my leg for three hours.

Again.

Besides, it was only a two hour flight to Portland from Phoenix. All about the destination not the journey this time.

The two men behind the controls made this flight my all time favorite, no question.

A man in an airline uniform walked past. Did I know him? Maybe. With my wife in the ladies room I did my recognition trick that’s so embarrassing.

It’s only embarrassing when I pretend it’s a celebrity like, “GEORGE CLOONEY,” or, “BRAD PITT,” when it’s obviously not them. Once I yelled, “BARYSHNIKOV,” in a stripper bar. A man looked, I waved, he left. It was Mike.

I yelled the name I remembered toward the approaching man in the airport and watched with a side-eye. Facebook life makes all so much easier. It may not be the person, but at least it’s a closer match.

He stopped and looked for the source. I stepped up and introduced myself. Since I’ve lost a few pounds last year, I get looks usually reserved for strangers from people I know.

It’s only awkward when I have to throw out reminders like, “I’m your dad.”

Sticking my head in a shot isn’t always the best idea, but still…

This time the guy belonged to the name I called out. We got caught up.

“Where are you heading,” Dick asked.

“Portland. How about you?” I said.

“I’m flying your plane,” he said. Facebook wings? I relaxed.

This pilot liked walking the terminal and talking to his wife and kids before taking off. Instead of some lounge, he was with his family. He was hitting it the comfort zone.

ME: “Out of everything in here, what is the most important thing?” DV: “The brakes.”

When I asked if I could see the cockpit, he said yes. I flashed back to a third grade visit to the North Bend fire house, sitting behind the wheel and bouncing in a fire truck.

The gentle collision of facebook life and real life was a facebook wings moment.

Everyone got on board, heard the safety talk, and belted in.

The pilot’s voice came over the system.

“Thank you for choosing American Airlines. We’re heading for Portland, on time, with a little rain in the forecast,” he said, adding, “Let’s welcome little Davy Gillaspie abroad for his first airplane ride.”

Did I bounce up and down in my seat like an eight year old in a fire truck, telling my row-mates, “I’m Little Davy? That’s me.”

Please. I’m a mature adult; a mature adult bouncing in his seat and interrupting the neighbors trying to work.

Best. Flight. Ever. On facebook wings.