After a grueling week of deadlines and stress, all I wanted from my flight was a few hours of quiet. I craved the simple pleasure of getting lost in a movie without a single distraction. I found my window seat, settled in, and felt the first wave of relaxation wash over me. That peace was shattered before we even reached cruising altitude. The young woman in the seat directly in front of me had a magnificent mane of long, thick hair. Without a second thought, she tossed it over the headrest, and it cascaded directly onto my tray table, completely obscuring my personal screen. It was as if a dark curtain had been drawn between me and my much-needed escape.
My first instinct was to be polite. I leaned forward and gently asked if she could please keep her hair on her side of the seat. She offered a quick, almost absent-minded apology and pulled it back. I thought the issue was resolved. But ten minutes later, the hair was back, swaying in my space as if it owned it. I asked again, a little more firmly this time. She completely ignored me, didn’t even turn her head. That’s when something inside me shifted. I realized politeness was not going to work with this particular individual. She needed a consequence, not another request. A mischievous and admittedly petty plan began to form in my mind.
I reached into my bag and quietly retrieved three pieces of chewing gum. I unwrapped them, popped them in my mouth, and chewed calmly while planning my move. Once the gum was perfectly malleable, I went to work. With the focus of a surgeon and a completely neutral expression, I began carefully and quietly working the sticky wads into the section of her hair that was draped over my seat. I was methodical, ensuring the gum was deeply embedded strand by strand. About fifteen minutes later, she finally turned around, perhaps sensing a slight tug or just out of boredom. The moment her fingers touched the sticky, hardened mess, she froze.
Her scream was a mix of horror and disbelief. “What…is…this?” she shrieked, frantically trying to pull the gum out, only succeeding in making it worse. I didn’t even look up from my screen. “That is the result of your arrogance,” I said calmly. She called me insane. I explained that she now had two choices: she could sit through the rest of the flight like that and eventually have to shave off a significant portion of her hair, or I could assist her immediately with a small pair of manicure scissors from my bag. The color drained from her face. I leaned in and added, in a low, steady voice, that if her hair ever entered my space again, she would be facing a much more drastic haircut. For the remainder of the flight, she sat perfectly still, her hair secured in a tight, respectful bun. I finally got to watch my movie, savoring the well-earned silence.
