We all have our el guapos

I boarded the plane tonight, apprehensive as always, making my way through the claustrophobic corridor to our First Class seats. I am not a very good air traveler. My son says that I do not have a fear of flying; that I have a fear of coach. In reality, First Class just makes it bearable. I'm willing to use all of our miles to upgrade if it means a few extra inches of breathing room in the flying tube they call an aircraft.

I drink a lot when I fly but it never really takes away the fear. The only noticeable difference is that I cry less when we take off. After a few Bloody Marys or glasses of wine, I begin to relax. I know the alcohol is doing its job when I begin asking why I fear flying so much.

I sat back in my reclining seat and tried to Zen out but a man sitting directly across from me made it impossible for me to relax. He was seated next to an Asian priest. A Rabbi sat a few rows behind which made me feel a combination of safe and scared.

Have you ever met someone who is capable of polluting the air around you? I remember a time a couple of years ago when Michael sent me to a Jewish market to buy foods for Passover. I parked miles away and took my place in a long line of L.A. Jews. Within a few minutes, I had made friends with this little old lady in back of me. I was on a high because Michael and I were getting married in a few weeks. I would have waited in line for 24 hours to buy the things necessary to make him a traditional Passover meal.

There was a woman in front of me who could only be described as a toxic waste bomb. I thought of the Peanuts character Pigpen. This woman made everyone miserable. From her complaints about the length of the line, to demanding a chair for her to sit in while she waited in line (she was much younger than most of the people in the line) to yelling at the poor salesclerk for denting her gefilte fish. The bizarre part about all of this is she overhood me talking about how much I loved my fiance and she turned around and said, "Isn't love grand - that will all change after you're married a while." When I went to pick up our order, I said the last name. Turns out she was my husband's ex-wife's best friend. She didn't appreciate the hug I offered. When she left the store, everyone applauded.

Back to the man in my aisle. He looked to be in his 70s with a white mustache and glasses, nicely dressed. Something spilled on him. Not sure if it was his fault or the flight attendant's but he was pissed. He stood up and had a fit. He refused his dinner and kept flicking his Wall Street Journal in an angry, irritated manner. The priest tried to talk to him but he told him, "Leave me alone." The priest would not give up. "Why don't you eat," he said. "I don't want to!" the man shouted. The priest grabbed his arm and spoke to him in a very calming voice. "Please, just have the appetizer and you will feel better." The man finally agreed. The priest took his napkin and placed it on the man's tray. He grabbed the man's arm and asked what was wrong. The man looked as if he was about to cry. I'm not sure what was said but what transpired from that point on was amazing.

The man changed. The priest held his hand and they laughed together. The man ordered vodka, the priest, a glass of red wine. They became fast friends. The priest was able to break through and give this man something he needed-compassion.

My sister once told me that she often wonders what people are really going through when they act the way they do. A man speeding down the freeway and cutting people off might be trying to get to the hospital to be with his sick wife or child. I can remember leaving my mother's deathbed and driving home in a daze. I went through a stop sign and a guy flipped me off and screamed at me. I started crying and thought to myself, "If you only knew what I'm going through." Maybe we need to give each other a break sometimes. Maybe some of us are just going through something. Or maybe some people are really like toxic waste, polluting the air around them. In that case, run for cover.