FLYING HAS CROSSED THE LINE FROM being painfully inconvenient to morbidly lame. As a child, it was a grand adventure, a voyage of discovery on a sleek technological marvel above the clouds into the unexplored heavens. A shapely stewardess pinned a pair of wings on your lapel, you sipped some dry ginger ale out of a plastic highball glass, and you banged out some coloring books. Maybe you listened to some Michael Jackson (the cool, moonwalking, non-yet-a-sexual-deviant edition) on your Walkman. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon.
Flash forward to 2007. Flying on an airplane has become a study in survival. And not just because religious fanatics aim for spectacular catastrophe by hijacking planes and crashing them into national monuments. Actually, it’s not even kosher (and would be considered an affront to What This Country Stands For) to complain about flying.Try grumbling about the length of the security line and you’ll see: Other passengers will stare you down like you tipped over Paul Revere’s gravestone and planted an Iranian flag in its place.
The fact is, you have a lot more to worry about at the airport besides unwittingly becoming part of a suicide mission. For me, the paranoia clusters around one thought: Have I become a Los Angeles Loser?
Even though I haven’t explained this term in depth, I wouldn’t be surprised if those very words intuitively struck a chord deep within your person. Are you a Los Angeles Loser? That is, do you fulfill some overarching, blatantly obvious stereotype that the rest of the country harbors about our fair city and region? Are you living up to the average American’s expectations for Southern California: That we’re a region of dim-witted, image-obsessed flakes who spend our time driving leased BMWs to our favorite surfing spot to get respite from the Real Housewife of Orange County who rules the roost. Our sons have bleach-blond hair and go to a tanning salon once a week. Because we all have the ethical backbone of a slug, we’re involved in an informal contest with our neighbors to have the most divorces before the age of 40.
You might claim “that’s not me!” But when I arrive at any airport gate for a flight departing to Los Angeles it’s pretty clear that “this is us.” We’re not hiding anything from anyone. The people getting on that plane aren’t going to South Dakota or Missouri, they have a one-way ticket to The Left Coast of Loose Morals.
Stereotyping is simplistic. It’s also usually dead-on accurate. Which is why you probably fit into one of the following categories if you’re waiting to board a flight to L.A.: Frosted Tips and Laker Jersey Guy — Proudly wears his #24 Kobe jersey to show off his massive pipes (and the ladies love the whiff of an accused rapist). Wears enough cologne to put a Wildebeest to sleep for invasive surgery. He won his gold chain at the Orange County Fair.
The Harried Entertainment Executive — one time out of 10, this fellow is a real power broker. Nine times out of 10, he’s an “independent producer” who lives in a studio apartment in Culver City and is working at Best Buy until Warner Brothers realizes they can’t go another day without an epic minis-eries on the Peloponnesian War. He’s not shouting at a director. He’s begging his parents to send another rent check.
The Aspiring Actress — One of the sad-dest cases. They’re usually boarding the flight with good cheer and determination. The hopes and dreams of an entire home-town ride on their shoulders. They’re usually picking through a script, which is unnecessary since reading skills aren’t required to dance at the Hot Legs Emporium on Sunset.
Just Out Of Rehab — It’s hard to tell if these folk are really just out of rehab, or if they just affecting the look. Remember, being pale, emaciated, jittery and non-verbal is in fashion out here. It’s a sizzling look.
Disgruntled Model — They can’t hide the fact that the photoshoot didn’t come off well and now they’re sulking until they can dissolve a Percocet in the gin and tonic the stewardess hands them.
Relaxed Self-Made Business Mogul — I don’t think it’s a rule that these guys have to be outfitted in nothing but Italian leather, but they try. The half-tinted shades give them a nice “I’ll hire somebody to take your knees out with a pipe if you screw with me” air about them.
You might not see yourself in these hideously clichéd character types. But if you’re waiting for a flight on Air Los Angeles, I see you. And so does everyone else.
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on September 27, 2007. Read the original PDF.