Jerry Stiller, My Best Friend

“This is first class check in only.” She shoved the ticket across the counter, not bothering to look up.

“I am flying first class.” I shoved the ticket back.

She stared at me in disbelief and begrudgingly took my ticket (It was the 90s, so we used paper tickets then.). She was in no rush, though I was. 

I was aching to be home after a long business trip to New York. I donned my fuschia Tahari silk suit, pearls with matching stud earrings, and black kitten heels, a vision of corporate America in its heyday. I pulled my little suitcase and carried my sensible black leather briefcase. 

“You’re flying first class?” she asked incredulously.

“Bitch,” I thought to myself. 

Alas, I ran to the gate and boarded a tish shy of being officially late. I went to the aisle seat I had booked. I noted, per usual, that I was the only woman in first class, in a sea of gray-haired, white businessmen in suits, loosened ties, polished mahogany wingtips, standard uniform then and now. Someone was in my seat, and he wasn’t budging. The flight attendant told me he preferred an aisle seat and since I was late, they let him have it. I asked nicely for him to move, showing my boarding pass. He flat out ignored me. This was a whole new level of patriarchy bullshit, adding insult to injury after my check in experience. My dad warned me of this. He said the world would not take me seriously as a short, brown woman who looked young for her age. I saw it all manifesting in the aisles of first class on that Northwest Airlines flight.

The flight attendant told me we’d take off late if I didn’t take my seat. I said I was trying to take my seat. Everyone was glaring at me. The only seat left was a window seat, so I did the good girl thing and took it. I was clearly agitated as I threw my briefcase onto the seat. All those men turned to stare, and it was then they realized who my seatmate was. Jerry Stiller. 

They all unbuckled, turned in their seats, and gushed. They were quoting their favorite lines from Seinfeld and whooping it up. Honestly, I was embarrassed for them. They were acting so juvenile and ridiculous. Jerry was having none of it. He was cordial and smiled politely, but never really looked up from his book. The man who took my seat looked at me with a hint of regret. I smiled with a glint of schadenfreude in my eyes and settled in. Finally, the flight attendant made these grown ass men behaving like imbeciles sit down and buckle up, just short of them pulling out pens from their suit jackets to ask for an autograph. 

I, meanwhile, sat quietly seething and reading my book. And I was eating my salty snacks to fit my mood. To this day I never travel without snacks.

I wasn’t going to be an asshole fan, so I left Jerry alone. But I admit, when he pulled out a pill bottle and struggled with the cap, as we all do, I looked over and noticed his name on the label. I squeeed on the inside.

But still, I sat.

He leaned over to me and asked what I was reading. I wish I remembered. We started talking about books and media. John Kennedy, Jr. had just died so we talked about that too. I was astounded that Jerry was an incredibly soft talker, the antithesis of the characters we know him as. He asked me about my job, my upbringing. We talked about my Indian family and all the interesting things I got to do at my company. Some of those suited men kept turning around, literally hanging over the back of the seat, trying to interject into our conversation. I hadn’t even noticed that Jerry and I both put down our books and talked through the whole flight. 

We laughed and enjoyed each other for those few hours. He told me he was sorry I ended up next to him in a window seat. I told him it was kismet and way more enjoyable than sitting aloof in the aisle. When we landed, he got my bag down for me. He joked that he can’t say he’s taller than many people so he was happy to help. We walked off the jetway, still chatting. Some people were hanging around hoping for an autograph (remember, it was the 90s, before selfie was a word). Jerry and I walked through the airport together like chums. He hugged me lightly as we went different directions, and as he walked away, he turned over his shoulder and said, “Thanks for making my flight so pleasant, Ilina. Your company is lucky to have you!”

Since that flight in 1999, I have always joked that Jerry Stiller was my best friend whenever I saw him on TV. Even my sons roll their eyes and preemptively and mock me in fits of, “We know, Mom!” Well, he obviously wasn’t my best friend, but he sure felt like my friend on what turned out to be the best flight.

RIP Jerry Stiller