He barely glanced back, shrugged, and replied, “Sorry, kid, but I paid for this seat,” as if that made it okay. I looked at my mom, who gave me the classic “let it go” expression. I tried, but I couldn’t let it end there.
“Mom, this is ridiculous,” I whispered. “I can’t even move my knees.”
She sighed. “I know, honey. It’s a short flight. Let’s just make do.”
I reluctantly agreed, given we wouldn’t be in the air for too long. But then he reclined further—so much that I could barely breathe. My knees were practically embedded into his seat, forcing me to sit sideways just to avoid being crushed.
My mom eventually called a flight attendant, who took one look and asked him politely to raise his seat a bit since it was causing me so much discomfort. The man refused, insisting he had the right to recline however he wanted.
The attendant, clearly stunned by his attitude, apologized and left, leaving me in a worse predicament than before. That’s when I got an idea. I dug around in my mom’s bag and found a large bag of pretzels.
Deciding on a somewhat childish approach, I opened the pretzels and ate them noisily, deliberately dropping crumbs everywhere—on my lap, on the floor, and especially on the man in front of me. It took a moment for him to notice, but eventually he stiffened and brushed the crumbs off his shoulder.
He turned around, clearly irritated. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I looked up innocently. “Sorry, these pretzels are so dry. Guess they’re going everywhere.”
“Cut it out,” he demanded, looking furious.
I shrugged. “I’m just eating my snack. I paid for this seat, too.”
He glared, but before he could speak again, I gave a perfectly timed sneeze, sending more crumbs his way. That was his breaking point. Muttering under his breath, he raised his seat back, freeing my knees.
Instant relief washed over me. The rest of the flight went smoothly, and by the time we landed, I felt triumphant—though I knew my method wasn’t exactly the most mature. As we left the plane, my mom gave me an amused, slightly proud smile. “Sometimes you’ve got to stick up for yourself,” she said. “Even if it means making a little mess.”
I nodded. “Next time, I’ll pick a snack that’s less crumbly.”
She laughed. “Or maybe we’ll spring for first class.”
I grinned. That idea sounded pretty good.