A few years ago, I flew back to Chicago alone. I have tried and failed to remember which year it was, where I had been, or what I had done. Since getting married, I don’t think I’ve traveled alone—my job requires zero business trips—but that flight is still vivid.
I boarded and ended up in the middle seat of a row that looked almost too perfectly arranged: a white man on my left, a Black man on my right, and me, an Asian guy, wedged between them. Both were reading the in-flight magazine, the kind nobody actually needs.
I’m an introvert, but I usually say hello to seatmates. We were going to spend two or three hours with our arms touching; saying nothing felt weird.
I started with the Black man on my right. He seemed to be a finance executive, the kind who lives on planes—a successful businessman. Then I said a few words to the white man on my left. HR executive, also a briefcase person. They asked what I did. I didn’t feel like explaining, so I said I fixed computers. (This may be why I still can’t remember what I was actually traveling for.)
Once I broke the ice, the three of us chatted—where we lived, how old our kids were, the difference between living in Chicago and ??? (I can’t remember the other place). Just when it felt like we’d done our social duty and could stop talking, the Black guy said, “I wonder how bad XXX’s injury is. Can he be back before the season?”
That lit the white guy up. “Oh, you follow XXX too? Their team is finished without that quarterback!” “Exactly—🏈🏟️📣.” “🗣️📋🤠 vs. 🗣️📋🦅!” “Really? 🪙🪶!!” “🦅🏃💨🏈 absolutely ❌ 🤠🛑🔨.” “Holy—‼️🦅📐🏈🏃💨 ➡️ 🏃♂️💨🦅🏃♂️💨 ➡️ 🙌🏈 what the hell 🤩 ➡️ 🏟️🥳🎉” ...
I sat between them without a word. They leaned forward and talked like old friends; I pressed myself against the seat back, trying to stay out of their sightlines. They kept going until the plane landed and even exchanged contact info. The second the seatbelt sign went off, I grabbed my stuff and fled.
It remains the most excruciating flight of my life. For two or three hours I was the human equivalent of a third wheel—or, I guess, a third wheel with a seatbelt.
Maybe every encounter is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. But some once-in-a-lifetime encounters are best kept to one time.