Air travel has a way of bringing out both the best and worst in people. My husband Alton and I recently experienced the latter during what should have been a routine flight home from visiting family. We’d been looking forward to returning to our own space after a week away, but one inconsiderate passenger turned our journey into a battle of wills.
The trouble started shortly after takeoff. I noticed movement behind Alton’s seat and turned to see a woman comfortably propping her bare feet against his headrest. At first, I assumed it was an accident – maybe she’d stretched without realizing where her feet landed. But when Alton politely asked her to move them, she barely glanced at him before resuming her conversation with her friend.
We tried being nice about it. Alton asked again, more firmly this time. She rolled her eyes dramatically and made a show of lowering her feet – for approximately thirty seconds. The moment we turned back around, there they were again, now with the added bonus of occasional kicks whenever she got animated in her conversation.
The breaking point came when we involved a flight attendant. The professional warning worked momentarily, but as soon as the crew member walked away, the feet returned with renewed determination. That’s when I decided if polite requests wouldn’t work, perhaps more creative measures were needed.
As the drink cart came down the aisle, I saw my opportunity. I ordered a bottle of water and carefully unscrewed the cap without drinking. With perfect timing, I “accidentally” tipped it just enough to soak the edge of her bag peeking out from under the seat. When she didn’t immediately react, I took it a step further with Alton’s drink, making sure a good portion found its way toward her offending feet.
The shriek of disgust was immediate. “Did you just spill that on me?” she hissed, yanking her feet away like she’d been burned.
I turned with my best innocent expression. “Oh goodness, turbulence must have knocked it over! So sorry about that.”
For the remainder of the flight, those feet stayed firmly planted on her own side of the seat. The occasional dirty look she shot me was a small price to pay for finally getting some peace. Sometimes, when diplomacy fails, you have to speak the language of petty consequences.
