Ventriloquist Taylor Mason presents his humorous recollection of traveling by plane and continues the laughs in his new book Irreversible as he reflects on his career in the entertainment industry including the time he won the 1991 Star Search.

I have reached a total of six million real air miles flown over the past x-number of years. I'm not proud of that freakishly absurd number. All it really means is I travel too much. The now-gone US Airways sent me a certificate years ago because I had "achieved" 2 million miles flown. "We know you'll want to frame this and hang it proudly," the accompanying form letter read.

It hit the recycle bin within seconds of being opened.

I've been seated in every section of all the main aircraft used by commercial airlines, and so have developed a keen sense of understanding my fellow passengers and seatmates. I know when conversation is appropriate, I know what subjects are acceptable and what is off limits, and I know when people want to be left alone. These observations are based on questions and responses I call "tells." As in someone saying to me, "Sir, I really don't want to talk to you," that's a tell. It means "leave me alone." See? I get it!

I have my own response to people I don't want to talk to, by the way. When I’m greeted by an overly enthusiastic fellow traveler with a "Hey! How are ya? This is gonna be great! It's my first time flying in 18 years! I'm from Michigan, where do you call home? Want to see some pictures of my origami?" It's obvious I must shut this down NOW. The question I wait for is the dialogue-ender. They will ask - they ALWAYS ask - "What do you do for a living?" Using the truth (I'm a comedian; I'm a ventriloquist; I'm an entertainer; I'm a writer and a musician and yes, this is my career) is much too open-ended and results in long explanations, which leads to more questions and more explanations and weirder in-flight juju with someone I don't know.

So, I always answer, "I'm a janitor." Or, "I work in waste removal. Sorry about the smell - it goes with me everywhere..." I sit in happy silence for the duration of the flight, interrupted only by the occasional sniff of my seatmate.

Years ago, on a cross-country flight, I was seated in First Class on the aisle in seat 2C. There were a total of 16 seats in this premium section of the plane, 15 of them taken up by a law firm, major players all, shouting, laughing and enjoying the fact they had their own little club in the front of the plane.

Well, all but seat 2C. Me. Working on my laptop. The flight had not yet taken off when I was approached by a distinguished-looking man (re: tall, graying at the temples, ruddy complexion, piercing gray eyes, perfect white smile and tailored suit - you get the picture - the Type A guy who always gets what he wants) who stared at me until I finally acquiesced and "noticed" him.

"Can I help you?" I asked in a non-committal, you-mean-nothing-to-me kinda way.

He blasted me a smile.

"Listen, I'm a partner with whatever-our-firm-is-named-this-week, and we have all these seats up here but yours. I wonder if you'd trade with me?"

He re-blasted the smile.

I smiled back.

"Where are you seated?"

He used his thumb to point back over his shoulder, "I'm in 4E, by the window."

I nodded.

"Well," I said, thinking how to phrase my response as I was talking, "here's the thing. I fly a lot. I always fly in Seat 2C. Because every time I have flown in this seat, the plane has not crashed!"

Long pause. The kind of uncomfortable silence that stops all conversation in a First Class section of a commercial airliner, so that even if you're not familiar with the people you're surrounded by, even if you’ve never met them or seen them or know anything about them, you still know that someone might get angry in a moment and a temper tantrum might erupt.

Mr. I'm-a-partner-in-a-prestigious-firm kept beaming his smile at me, his eyes boring into mine, and I thought I could see some redness rising from his starched collar up his neck into his chin. The way cartoon characters do just before going nuclear when they lose their temper and their heads explode.

Instead he began laughing. A wild, off the charts insane laugh as if I had just told the funniest joke in the history of commercial aviation.

"That's the funniest joke in the history of commercial aviation!" he shouted, hitting me a little too hard on my shoulder as everyone laughed and went back to their loud conversations.

I stayed in 2C and did my work.

About Taylor Mason

Author Taylor Mason is a comedian, musician, and world-class ventriloquist who has been making audiences laugh around the world since 1983. He boasts more than one thousand television appearances, numerous accolades, a previous television show, two published books and countless performances at top comedy clubs and arenas in every major U.S. city. He can currently be seen performing live shows as well as on the popular Dry Bar Comedy YouTube channel.