By Jeff Girod
Get off my plane! In the past week, Alec Baldwin was ejected from an American Airlines flight at LAX because he allegedly refused to stop playing Words With Friends on his cell phone.
He also allegedly hurled insults at the flight crew, locked himself in a lavatory, banged on the walls, started a Twitter tirade where he compared flight attendants to retired ’50s Catholic school gym teachers, deactivated his Twitter account, blamed 9/11 for his behavior, then appeared on Saturday Night Live as a pilot where he apologized to himself, describing Alec Baldwin as “an American treasure.”
In response to the incident, American Airlines announced it is switching the name of its in-flight nuts to “Alec Baldwin.”
Would we all prefer that Alec Baldwin didn’t act like a 300-pound hairy infant on airport runways? Yes, of course. Grown men should be able to sit quietly in leather recliners without getting shot with rubber pellets by Federal Air Marshals.
But Alec Baldwin isn’t like you and me. He’s rich and famous. (Or at least famous. If he was rich, he wouldn’t be humping it on American Airlines. C’mon, NBC, buy this guy a private jet!)
Alec Baldwin is talented. He’s on a hit television sitcom. He’s hosted Saturday Night Live more times than anyone. And to top it all off, he married Kim Basinger when she was gorgeously hot, not when she was old and busted and portraying Eminem’s strung-out mom in 8 Mile.
Alec Baldwin has starred in Glengarry Glen Ross and The Departed, and that’s way more impressive than whatever crappy jobs you and I have. And if Alec Baldwin wants to lock himself in the occasional bathroom and get himself tossed off a plane once every 53 years, frankly I think that’s a pretty fair trade—as long as he keeps churning out entertaining shows and movies.
And really, who hasn’t wanted to yell at a flight attendant? Name another profession where you can literally have someone arrested just by pointing at them, yet most of your in-flight responsibilities resemble that of a Denny’s waitress.
If a 747 is hurtling toward the Pacific at 700 miles an hour, who are you going to entrust to open the giant cabin door: The 90-pound stewardess who refuses to let you even drink from your own aluminum can of Diet Dr. Pepper, or Alec-freaking-Baldwin, who took down a Russian submarine commander in The Hunt for Red October?
Alec Baldwin is a pompous ass that deserves every sentence of bad publicity he’s ever received. But he also lives in a 24-hour pressure cooker where people constantly aim camera phones at him like he’s a giant panda, or post Twitter updates such as, “Dood, I just peed at a urinal next to Tony Danza!”
Alec Baldwin gets ogled all the time. Whenever he eats. Wherever he sleeps. And especially when he travels. Imagine every moment during the course of your life that you’ve completely lost your mind, then imagine all of those moments edited together, set to a Queen soundtrack and viewed on YouTube 4 million times.
And if you’re really concerned that Alec Baldwin is getting away with murder while the rest of us suffer in impoverished anonymity . . . One, get a hobby, because nobody should care that much about celebrities. And two, just wait. Sooner than later, Alec Baldwin will get his karmic comeuppance.
Google a picture of Alec Baldwin from 20 years ago: A boyish Alec Baldwin is arguably more dreamy than a Channing Tatum/Justin Bieber/Jonas Brothers Panini. Presently, Alec Baldwin looks like a fat Ricky Ricardo. And in 5 to 10 years, he will resemble a cross between Kenny Rogers and one of those beached whales that has to be exploded because they can’t roll its enormous, disgusting carcass back into the sea.
Someday soon Alec Baldwin will be as un-famous as Balki from Perfect Strangers. He’ll be lucky to find a job as an Indian casino greeter who also has to scrape gum off sidewalks.
And if Alec Baldwin gets out of line on an airplane—heck, if he pops off in line at a Dairy Queen—we’ll take turns beating the hair gel out of him with his own ascot.
Here’s a word for you, Alec: H-A-S-B-E-E-N.
Contact Jeff Girod at firstname.lastname@example.org.