When Fate Picks Your Seatmate

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/09/bu...gewanted=print
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December 9, 2008
Frequent Flier
When Fate Picks Your Seatmate
By ANN MORHAUSER
I ALMOST never talk to or notice fellow passengers.

I’m the person who has her nose stuck in a book or else I’m trying to
catch up on paperwork.

But sometimes, fate intervenes and forces you to take a look around.

I was headed to New York, and I wound up sitting in a bulkhead seat
since I was one of those unlucky passengers who couldn’t get an
upgrade. I was just settling in, and some very official-looking people
brought in an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair and placed him right
next to me. The attendants asked me whether I minded, and of course I
said no.

The gentleman looked as if he were sleeping. Occasionally he would
move a little bit. About two hours into the five-hour flight, I
noticed that he was quite still. I looked at his neck to see whether I
saw any movement and then I put my hand in front of his nose to see
whether I could feel any breath. I felt nothing.

I called the attendant over. The man had died. The attendant didn’t
seem surprised. She draped a blanket over his head, as if he were one
of the passengers using the blanket to keep the sun out of his eyes.
Then she told me not to say anything to anyone so I wouldn’t upset
other passengers.

We still had about three hours to go until we landed. I tried to
meditate and I thought about those people who loved this man.

When it came time to disembark, I was the last one off the plane. I
figured that was the least I could do to show some respect.

Not every unusual flight is so solemn. When I boarded for a trip back
to California from New York, I couldn’t help noticing this very
interesting man seated near me who had a pile of great books and
periodicals with him. But I didn’t make a move to speak with him.

That is until a flight attendant came onto the plane with a huge
pizza, causing everyone in first class to salivate after catching a
whiff of the aroma. She was a generous sort and shared the pizza with
those of us who were sitting in first class.

And that’s when this gentleman and I started talking. Let’s call it
fate, but I found out he was an intellectual property attorney. My
business needed this kind of legal counsel. So I asked for his card.

And then I wound up hiring him a few weeks later.

A few months after I hired my former seatmate, I received a beautiful
envelope that was addressed to me from the White House. I thought one
of my brothers was playing a joke on me, so I just threw it on the
junk pile. But my office manager thought it was real since there was
an official-looking watermark on the envelope. She told me to open it.
Inside was an invitation for a White House event.

I couldn’t believe it. I also couldn’t believe that I had no one to
take if I accepted the invitation, since I was going through a
divorce. I started thinking of all the men that I knew, many of whom
are artists, and wondered which one owned a suit. The only person I
could think of who actually owned a suit and would take a trip cross
country with me was my lawyer.

I asked him, and he said yes. And now, he’s not only my lawyer, but
also a good friend.

I guess I can thank fate, some cheese pizza and a career that demands
something other than jeans and a T-shirt for that.

By Ann Morhauser as told to Joan Raymond. E-mail:
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Copyright 2008 The New York Times Company