The boarding process was already a chaotic mess, thanks to a delayed flight and an overflowing gate. All I wanted was to get to my window seat, settle in, and hopefully get a few hours of much-needed sleep. I had specifically paid extra for this seat—14A, a prime window spot with a decent view and a bit more distance from the lavatories.
As I finally boarded and navigated the narrow aisle, I saw it. A couple, looking far too comfortable, was already ensconced in my row. The woman was in 14A, my seat, happily scrolling on her phone. Her partner was in 14B, the middle seat. They looked utterly at home, their bags already stowed.
I tried to be polite. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice probably betraying a hint of my building frustration. “I believe you’re in my seat. I have 14A.”
The woman looked up, mildly annoyed. “Oh, we just swapped,” she said dismissively, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “My husband likes the aisle, so I took the window. You can take his seat.” She gestured vaguely towards 14C, the aisle seat, which was already occupied by a stern-looking business traveler.
My jaw dropped. “No, I can’t,” I stated, trying to keep my voice even. “I paid extra for this window seat. And 14C is already taken.”
Her husband, who had been pretending to sleep, suddenly “woke up.” “Look, pal,” he grumbled, “we’re a couple. We want to sit together. Just take another seat. It’s not a big deal.”
A flight attendant, noticing the burgeoning standoff, approached. I quickly explained the situation, showing her my boarding pass. She politely, but firmly, asked the couple to move.
“But we’re together!” the woman whined. “Can’t he just take another seat? We’re already settled.”
The flight attendant, clearly used to this kind of entitlement, explained that assigned seats were assigned for a reason, and they had to move. After a few more protests and eye-rolls, they begrudgingly gathered their things.
But they didn’t move far. Oh no. They moved to the row directly behind me: 15A and 15B. The woman, still fuming, muttered loud enough for me to hear, “Some people are just so selfish. Can’t believe he made a fuss.”
I settled into my rightful window seat, but my blood was still boiling. Selfish? They were the ones who had stolen my seat! I stewed for a moment, letting their entitlement wash over me. Then, a mischievous idea began to form.
I remembered the flight attendant had mentioned we were expecting some turbulence at cruising altitude. A grin spread across my face. This was going to be fun.
As the plane took off and reached cruising altitude, the pilot’s voice came over the intercom: “Folks, we’re expecting a bit of chop for the next hour or so. Please keep your seatbelts fastened.”
Perfect.
I waited until the turbulence really picked up, the plane jostling and shaking. Then, with an almost imperceptible shift, I reclined my seat all the way back. Slowly. Deliberately.
The woman behind me gasped. “Hey!” she snapped, trying to push my seat forward. “What do you think you’re doing? I can’t even see my screen!”
I turned my head slightly, my face a picture of feigned innocence. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice sweet and a little too loud. “But I paid extra for this seat, you know. And I like to recline. It’s not a big deal, is it?” I paused, letting the implication hang in the air. “Some people are just so selfish, aren’t they?”
Her face went from annoyed to absolutely livid. She mumbled something under her breath, probably a string of expletives, and tried to push my seat again, harder this time. The turbulence, however, made it a difficult task. Her husband finally piped up. “Just leave it, honey,” he sighed, clearly defeated.
I spent the next hour enjoying my fully reclined seat, occasionally “accidentally” jostling it backward even further when the turbulence hit a particularly rough patch. Each subtle movement was met with frustrated grunts and huffs from behind me. It was a small act of defiance, a minor inconvenience, but it felt incredibly satisfying.
When the pilot announced we were out of the turbulence and the seatbelt sign was off, I slowly, and with a contented sigh, returned my seat to its upright position. The woman behind me was glaring daggers, but I just smiled serenely.
They had stolen my seat, but I had given them a memorable flight. It was a petty act, I admit, but sometimes, a little bit of well-deserved turbulence is exactly what entitlement needs.
