Good thinking but poor manners

A couple of months ago I was on a flight from my home in Hilton Head, flying to LaGuardia. I was reading a copy of “The New Yorker” that someone had left in the seat pocket in front of me. The guy next to me looked exactly like the actor who played the medical examiner from “Bosch” – Alan Rosenberg. The actor is pictured above, because I didn’t get a picture of my seatmate on the plane. But he looked just like the actor, except with a bit longer hair, a grey “soul patch” on his chin, and small wire-rimmed glasses. He wore mismatched, brightly colored socks, a patterned scarf around his neck (in August), and was otherwise dressed all in black.

As he sat down next to me, he noticed my reading material, and said, “Great magazine! I love The New Yorker! Watcha reading about?” I told him that I was reading about how Trump was trying to suppress the votes of minorities in the upcoming election. He responded, “Unbelievable!” I agreed that that was exactly the word I would use as well.

So now we’re buddies. I didn’t feel like talking. I get motion sick on planes, and dislike flying. So I just kept deflecting his conversation back to him, and like most people, he was happy to talk about himself. Which was fine with me. If I can learn something from “The New Yorker,” surely I can learn something from this guy, if I’ll just shut up and listen. And sure enough, I learned a lot.

He was raised in North Jersey, and moved to Brooklyn some years ago. He viewed himself as an independent-thinking cosmopolitan. He was very concerned about the divisive nature of modern politics, and was worried that the white supremacist Q Anon types from flyover country would start an armed rebellion if they felt startled. He was also very critical of “millionaires who want to control everything,” and Elon Musk “creating a culture of hate.”

It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. He was a good conversationalist, and wove stories of his youth and background in, but always ended with a snarky comment about a disfavored group. He also name-dropped a lot. Somebody famous was at his Bar Mitsvah. He met Walter Mondale once. He ate in the same restaurant as a famous mobster in NYC one night. And so on. On a flight to New York City, I thought to myself, this could be worse. I continued to nod my agreement, and ask him about himself. Everything was going fine.

I wish I had recorded it. He really was interesting to listen to. Interesting to me, at least.

I asked him what he did for a living. He said he was a writer. I asked what sort of thing he wrote, typically. He said something like, “Well, I have a regular job. But I write on the side. I write about philosophy and current events. It really helps me focus my thoughts. Those right-wing whackos wouldn’t be mindless Trump supporters if they were forced to read and write about things.”

Me: “Huh. Can I see some of your stuff? Where can I find it?”

Him: “Well, I’ve got some stuff awaiting publication right now. Hope to have it out soon. Takes forever, you know.”

Me: “I wouldn’t know.”

Him: “You should try it. Even if you’re not naturally a thinker, writing is a great exercise.”

Me: “Maybe I’ll try it sometime.”

Him: “I didn’t mean that you personally aren’t a thinker, of course. Stupid people don’t read The New Yorker, obviously. But writing makes you notice things. Like that guy up there – 3 rows up on the other side. You can just tell he’s a Trump supporter. Look at that stupid eagle and American flag on his T-shirt. I mean, come on.”

By this time, we’re halfway through the flight. For some reason, after all his snarky comments, that one bothered me. I’m not sure why. It really wasn’t his fault, since I had gone along with everything he said up to this point. Maybe I was getting irritable from the motion sickness. But for whatever reason, I was suddenly pissed off.

I turned and looked at him. I considered just going back to nodding and smiling. But decided, “Eh, no.” Again, I’m not sure why.

I asked him, “Suppose that guy with the T-shirt were to look at you. What do you think he would see?”

Him: “I seriously doubt that he thinks about things very much. He’d probably just see some random guy.”

Me: “What if he’s smart and perceptive? What would he see?”

Him: * suddenly suspicious * “He’s obviously not smart and perceptive. Who cares what people like that think?”

Me: “A writer might care what he thinks. Someone who’s interested in things. Someone who notices things. Someone who wants to learn about the world around them might care what he thinks. Right?”

Him: * suspicious look *

Me: “Ok. Your father worked hard and sacrificed for you and your family, so you grew up upper-middle class. You lacked his work habits, so you went to a mediocre college. You majored in Psychology, because it ended in -ology but didn’t involve hard work or right answers. You were uninterested in your father’s tendency toward dedication and sacrifice, so you developed a cynical view toward those more successful than you to protect yourself from that nagging self-doubt. You figured out that as long as you professed to believe in abortion and racism, you would be accepted by fellow travelers who shared your views about responsibility and sacrifice. You work in a bureaucracy where you can earn a paycheck and feel powerful, but if your entire department shut down tomorrow, it wouldn’t matter to anyone. How am I doing so far?”

Him: * really, REALLY dirty look *

Me: Your Dad died and left you enough money to vacation in Hilton Head, but not enough to retire there. Which you resent. Your only refuge from disappointment in yourself is your political identity, which provides cover for your own laziness. So you use your clothes, your car, and your closed-minded judgements of others to convince everyone of your superiority. But it’s mainly to convince yourself. You’re not stupid enough to believe in 37 genders or whatever, but you go along, and pretend to be incapable of independent thought, purely out of self-defense. And if you ever encounter someone who IS capable of independent thought, you avoid them like the plague. Which you will do again in 45 minutes, as soon as we finally land in LaGuardia. How did I do? Pretty close?”

Him: “You’re a dick.”

Me: “And you’re a malignant narcissist. I’m getting the worse end of the deal, on this flight.”

Him: “You Trump supporters are all the same.”

Me: “No, we’re not. But you Democrat elitists are. Which is why I got so much of that right. For whatever I got wrong, I apologize. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go back to my New Yorker magazine, so I can learn a different perspective than my own about things.”

Him: “#&%@ you.”

Me: * cheerful smile *

I read my magazine for the rest of the flight, while my seatmate seethed. I might have been wrong about some of that, but he didn’t point out any inaccuracies, so I suspect I was pretty close. Still, I felt pretty bad, blind-siding him like that. Personal attacks are a poor form of political debate. But on the other hand, that's the only type of political debate that he engaged in for the first 45 minutes of the flight.

I consoled myself that it might be helpful for him to understand that not everyone who thinks, thinks the same as him.

But probably not. He’s probably too old and too invested in his worldview to change now. Which means I wasn’t really trying to convince him of anything, I was just lashing out, out of frustration. I like to think I’m above that sort of thing. And for 45 minutes, I was. But then I wasn’t. Not his fault.

I was going to write about this flight at the time, but I didn’t, because I was embarrassed about my behavior. Watching the news this week reminded me of him. And I realized that my little tirade would describe a significant portion of the powers that be behind the Democrat party.

I’m not sure how you reach people like that. You certainly don’t do it by attacking them on airplanes.

He’s right – the divisive nature of modern politics is dangerous. Two guys on a plane end up at each others’ throats, rather than joking about their disagreements. This is no good.

When we finally landed, I should have apologized. He had no idea what he was walking into.

But there’s a reason I’m edgy. These are dangerous times. I fear that things are likely to get much worse, very soon.

Things could get so, so much worse.

Unlike my seatmate, I hope I’m wrong…