Rant from Row 14

If you don’t want to hear me whine, turn the page.

I’m floating at 36,000 feet over somewhere called Canora right now. The seat map says we are doing 825 KMH, but I feel like I’m standing still. According to aviation experts…that’s a good thing!

The cabin is cool. The flight is smooth. My family is tucked in nicely with their in-flight movies. Call me content.

But that wouldn’t be accurate.

I’m annoyed beyond annoyance. Upside down from the bright side. My cloud is grey and there is no silver in sight.

Peeved should be my new surname. I think it’s automatically bilingual, so the stewardess should be able to pronounce it when they page. “Monsieur Peeved, please stop issuing death stares at the lady next to your wife.”

That won’t get me to stop.

She’s going to have endure my wrath the entire flight. Because she just set common courtesy back a century this morning, in a scenario we all know too well. The airline seat shuffle.

This was an easy one for her to win. My wife had a window seat in a 2-4-2 configuration. When I booked online it showed me next to her in the aisle. But somehow the map was wrong so I’m across from her. But still on the aisle.

Sounds simple so far doesn’t it?

Of course I waited for the person who had the seat I wanted and asked if we could change seats. They are both aisles. Both the same size. Both the same row. Both the same colour even. Okay so hers was a few feet closer to the window and yes mine was on the end of a row of four.

I politely asked for her to switch. It’s a routine ask, happens on every flight. Every day. I indicated the location of my wife. Quickly added the proximity of my children, smiled naturally and waited for her to say of course, no problem.

Bzzzzzzz. Does this woman really have a toaster oven buzzer in her head? Did she really just zap me. I feel like one of those TV cop show sound cannisters just went off in my head. She is rejecting my request.

She looked down. She looked at her booked seat. She threw her eyes away from my booked seat and used them to demonstrate the perils of being in a row of four. She didn’t say sorry. She didn’t ask if it was airline error. She didn’t even ask my wife if she minded.

Bzzzz.

I was stunned. Really I ask? She snorted about how she didn’t want to be in a row of four.

But it’s got two aisles. There is no Noble Prize winning mathematical formula in the world that supports her argument she may have to provide more bathroom aceess than being next to one person. In theory, no sorry, in reality she is only next to one person in a four pack!

She wasn’t in a debating mood. I hastily retreated and sent my wife a quick email vent.

I couldn’t believe it. You don’t realize how much simple courtesy means in your life until you are denied the same. But I’m getting her back. I’ve already plotted how I’m going to block her exit when she wants to leave. She will be stuck to that chair like a Louisiane inmate when I’m done with her. If she does escape she’s going to experience the new Olympic sport of slow walking. I have amazing peripheral vision, she has no hope of getting past me!

If this wasn’t a professional media channel I would also share with you my preparations to spray her with flatulents all the way up the airport ramp. I’m strategically ordering right now from the on board Cafe.

If she survives all those nuisances than she might want to think twice about the baggage carousel. I’m debating using a cart to block her in to a back breaking corner or innocently advising my kids to stand next to her armed with some dubious data from me that the bags come out in the same proximity as our seats. There is guaranteed at least one crushed toe or annoying elbow in the rub coming out of that.

Maybe I will get lucky and she will be scheduled on the same return flight home. Perhaps the shoe will be on the other foot. Or the butt on the other cushion. Payback is always a multiple of the crime.

I’m enjoying this.