Other than when I’m behind the wheel, I’m a patient person.  I’ve traveled enough to have honed my airport security skills to a tee.  With one hand, I can get my 3-1-1* ziploc and laptop out, shoes, cardigan and coat off, and never let go of my boarding pass.

I exchange “Why can’t they all be like you?” looks of agony with TSA Agents, as they ask the same passenger over and over again to walk through the metal detector, because, yes ma’am, you have to take your spiked neck collar AND cuffs off.

I wait patiently as the gentleman blocking the narrow aisle casually removes his sports coat, takes his time getting his laptop from the overhead, and nonchalantly keeps his butt out, rather than slide into his row, as he rummages for his newspaper.

Finally.  Finally, I make it to my seat.  I dare not even think it or I’ll jinx myself, but…can it be?  Two seats to myself on a 7:30am-suit n’ blackberry-loaded-flight?  Haaaaaalllllleeeellll…o…oh, hello, seat mate.  Didn’t realize you went to the bathroom.

Fine.  I’ll share.  Now, ya’ll know there is a lot of me to love, however, I fit perfectly fine into a normal airline seat, arm rest down, no spillage, thank you.  Instead of a “You’re welcome” from my seat mate, I got this:


Really?  You have to put your foot under the seat in front of ME?  Oh, sure, go ahead, I don’t need the arm rest.  I’ll just rest my elbow on my stomach.  Did you want me to read the NYT Obituaries with you?  No?  Then why is that section in my face?  No, no, it’s cool – go ahead and put your laptop on both of our trays to make room for your coffee.

My seat mate was not a large person, nor was he a novice flyer.  He was…inconsiderate.  I politely asked him to move his foot off my purse, and I think he got the hint to mind his space.  Thank God it was only an hour flight.

Be considerate, people!  Don’t make me bring this with me next time!

*3 ounces of liquid or gel, 1 quart-size baggie, 1 bag per traveler.