From the corner of my eye, I could see that the man sitting next to me on the flight from JFK was wearing one of those baseball hats with gold leaflet on the brim, like you’ll see on the History Channel, worn by vets to commemorate their position as an officer on a warship. The man was fidgeting, tapping his feet, taking off his jacket, pulling it back on. He was the Fidgety Veteran. He took off his cap, and I could see that it wasn’t a veteran’s hat; it read something like “Streets Angels” under an embroidered car. So he wasn’t a veteran; he was a motoring enthusiast. He was the Fidgety Motorist. He leaned forward to look out the window, and I read the back of his shirt: “LAFD Scuba.” He was the Fidgety Scuba-diving firefighter.