Geoff Carter 15 October 2009 Stories and Appreciations 836 views 2 Comments Print This Post  Email This Post

The best movies, the ones that stick with us, are the ones that we identify with parts of ourselves — the movies that illustrate truths in our own lives. We strive to be giving, like the title character of “Amelie,” and we try to avoid removing our own limbs, unlike the characters in “Saw.”

This year, I found my own cinematic parallel in an unexpected place: J.J. Abrams’ “Star Trek.” It reminded me of a fleeting but memorable time in my life when I was the commander of the Federation Starship Enterprise.

It’s less exciting that it sounds. I was the captain of Enterprise-D, the least sporty of the Enterprise models to roll off the Federation line – truly a minivan to the original Enterprise’s Mustang. Still, it was an Enterprise and I sat in its captain’s chair for a full minute, maybe a minute-and-a-half … which I believe is a longer stay than poor Riker ever had.

As the Guardian of Forever surely remembers it, I was part of a party of journalists invited to tour the now-defunct Star Trek: The Experience attraction at the Las Vegas Hilton a few weeks before its January, 1998 opening day. I walked ahead of the pack, poking my head in doorways – I’m unable to resist staff-only doors – and I found the attraction’s “bridge” set a minute before the rest of the group.

Construction was at a fevered pitch and most of the Enterprise-D’s fixtures were still wrapped in protective plastic, but the center seat was open. Gingerly, I removed the plastic from the chair and sat down.

Now that I’ve had some distance from the event and I don’t have to blow plasma up anyone’s nacelles, I can say that it was an underwhelming experience. The chair was uncommonly stiff; unlike the actual chair that Patric Stewart sat in, the captain’s chair of the “Experience” was a prop that wasn’t really made for anyone to sit in. It didn’t tilt, swivel or provide lumbar support, and the mock “keypads” at the end of the armrests forced me to bend my arms at a strange angle. From that uncomfortable vantage point, I noticed for the first time how beige the Enterprise-D was — even more so than the interior of a late-1970s Buick — and that the swiveling displays flanking Riker and Troi’s seats looked vaguely like bowling-ball returns.

In searching for photos to accompany this piece, I discovered that I wasn’t the last humanoid to sit in one of Star Trek: The Experience’s two captain’s chairs. (The Experience had two bridges, which were linked much like this.) In later years, they would allow every T’Pau, Data and Harry Mudd to sit in the chair: There were backstage tours of the attraction, weddings held on the “bridge,” and I think that you could even consummate a wedding in the center seat if you put down a cleaning deposit and weren’t too particular about bruising. (Okay, I didn’t really hear anything about that last misuse of the chair, but you have to admit it’s a fine idea.)

At that moment, though, I didn’t know that any of that stuff was going to happen. At that moment, I was in the captain’s chair. For a little under sixty seconds, I was the captain of the Enterprise-D.

“Guests will enter from this direction,” said the attraction’s PR representative as she entered the room with the rest of the group. “And all these panels will be lit up and attended to by crew members. Jonathan Frakes will appear on the main screen, and guests will suddenly notice that the captain’s chair is empty … or it would be, if Geoff Carter weren’t sitting in it. Geoff, you’re not supposed to be sitting there.”

“‘You’re not supposed to be sitting there, Captain,’” I corrected her. “At ease, lieutenant.”

“Ha ha ha,” she said. “Please get out of the chair now.”

I shot up as if electrified.

I wish I could tell you that I had made a difference during that hot minute. I wish I could tell you that I saved a bunch of aliens with crazy ridges creasing their foreheads, or that I’d used the long-range scanners to find the staff photographer who should have freaking been there to preserve the moment. But all I had time to do before I was relieved of command was to shift my weight from side, make a few sweeping “make it so” gestures like Picard, and to wonder why the driver of the 23rd century’s flagship pimpmobile didn’t rate a lousy cupholder.

- Geoff Carter

PHOTO BY KREG STEPPE