I was minding my own business -- hands in lap, halo floating somewhere between the crown of my head and the reading light -- when she tried to recline. My knees resisted. She began to rock against the seat, hitting my knees with all the force she could muster.
“Ouch!” I said.
She turned around. She was short. Her face was covered in warts. She was soaked in diamonds and had a piercing I-get-everything-that-I-want Jersey accent.
“What? Is there something wrong with my seat?” She said.
“Yeah, it is banging into my knees.” I said.
“What am I supposed to do, be uncomfortable the entire flight?” She said.
Like people that eat at fast food restaurants and leave their trash on the table, this lady is what’s wrong with our world. It didn’t cross her mind that anything but her own comfortableness was at stake. That someone with a 34” inseam and a bum ankle might need a little space too.
30 minutes went by until she tried again. My guard was down and she succeeded.
Ever so politely I tapped her on the shoulder, “Excuse me mam, could you please put your seat forward a little?”
That’s when the yelling began. Hers not mine. Passengers within a 3 row radius turned to see her, steam coming out of her ears, drool dripping from her fangs.
“If you wanted more space you should have paid for first class.” She said at a banshee level of volume.
For a moment I considered stooping to her level, but decided to look around at my fellow passengers stunned at her loss of cool. I sat back and listened to the whispers, content with the fact that she was a bitch. And everyone knew it.
“Ouch!” I said.
She turned around. She was short. Her face was covered in warts. She was soaked in diamonds and had a piercing I-get-everything-that-I-want Jersey accent.
“What? Is there something wrong with my seat?” She said.
“Yeah, it is banging into my knees.” I said.
“What am I supposed to do, be uncomfortable the entire flight?” She said.
Like people that eat at fast food restaurants and leave their trash on the table, this lady is what’s wrong with our world. It didn’t cross her mind that anything but her own comfortableness was at stake. That someone with a 34” inseam and a bum ankle might need a little space too.
30 minutes went by until she tried again. My guard was down and she succeeded.
Ever so politely I tapped her on the shoulder, “Excuse me mam, could you please put your seat forward a little?”
That’s when the yelling began. Hers not mine. Passengers within a 3 row radius turned to see her, steam coming out of her ears, drool dripping from her fangs.
“If you wanted more space you should have paid for first class.” She said at a banshee level of volume.
For a moment I considered stooping to her level, but decided to look around at my fellow passengers stunned at her loss of cool. I sat back and listened to the whispers, content with the fact that she was a bitch. And everyone knew it.
2 comments:
Just take comfort in knowing you are the better person. And buy a knee defender (http://www.kneedefender.com/)
The knee-defender? Awesome. And only $14.95.
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