... You don't get it.
You try to remember all the movies John Lithgow has been in, starting
with Harry and the Hendersons. By the time you get up to Orange County,
you still have no idea just what the hell you're sitting in the middle
of. Shatner is no help either. He just sits there, dripping sweat all
over the terribly cramped airline seats. Also, he's monochromatic, and
that is certainly distracting for you. What has William Shatner been in,
you wonder to yourself? Despite your best efforts, all you can think of
is Star Trek and TekWar. This is going to be a very awkward flight
unless you can spark a good conversation with these two. You resolve to
try one, then the other.
You turn to John Lithgow and try out your best French Stewart
impression. Unfortunately, you are no impressionist, and you sound more
like Paul Lynde with a sinus infection. Lithgow rolls his eyes and pulls
out the safety pamphlet from the seat in front of him. You try out your
impression again, but he is too immersed in the details of the "seat
cushion as a floatation device" protocol. Alright, things are going well
so far. Maybe in a minute, you'll give Shatner a try. Right now, though,
you've got to continue with Lithgow. You think you may have finally made
some progress with him when he puts the pamphlet away, but he
immediately dives into the Skymall catalogue.
As you mope over your failure to garner Lithgow's favor, something drips
onto your arm. Without looking, you suspect that it's some of Shatner's
runoff. Sure enough, you turn around to see that he is leaning in your
direction, making a sad puppy dog face in an attempt to get you to pay
attention to him. Well, maybe I'll have more luck with this one, you
think.
He smiles and points out the window: "There's... something on the...
wing." There isn't anything on the wing. Great, you're stuck next to a
hallucinating actor. He repeats, "There's....... something.........
on the wing!" You stop him before his dramatic pauses get out of
control and ask him to kindly shut the hell up. Lithgow nods behind you,
and Shatner, infuriated by the spurning, produces a curious-looking
device from his grey-ish pocket. Well I'll be damned, you think to
yourself, a replica of a phaser from Star Trek. Unfortunately, it was no
mere replica. I hope you enjoy disintegration, bunky.
