Did you ever meet anyone who demands everything and just expects people to give in?
I’m sure you’ve met the type.
The people who are so wrapped up in the social media or their ‘influencing’ that they thing everyone else is a non-entity.
I encountered one on a plane not too long ago.
And she was a doozy.
If you’ve ever been on a packed flight, you know what I’m talking about.
The moment they announce boarding, everyone loses their mind—shoving carry-ons into overhead bins, wrestling with coats, and pretending they don’t see the long line of people waiting to pass by.
I’m standing in the aisle, trying not to get hit by a toddler swinging a stuffed dinosaur, when I see it—Seat 23C.
That’s mine.
But there’s a problem.
The woman in my row isn’t sitting in the middle seat like she’s supposed to.
Nope—she’s comfortably parked in the window seat, scrolling through her phone like she owns the plane.
And, she’s got her stuff spread out in the middle seat.
I let out a small breath. This is gonna be fun.
Wrong Seat, Big Ego
I shift my bag onto my shoulder and smile politely, even though my patience is already running low.
I’m tired. I just want to sit down and close my eyes.
“Hi, excuse me. I think your seat is actually the middle one—23B.”
I gesture toward the correct seat, hoping she’ll get the hint and move without drama.
No such luck.
Without even looking up from her phone, she waves me off like I’m a waiter delivering the wrong order.
“It’s fine. I prefer the window.”
For a second, I think she must’ve misunderstood.
“Right, but—this isn’t your seat,” I say, keeping my voice friendly. “See?”
I point at the boarding pass sticking out of her pocket—it clearly says 23B. The middle.
Not the window. Not even the aisle. The dreaded middle seat.
She finally glances up, eyes narrowing in irritation, as if I’ve just asked her to swap seats with the pilot.
“What difference does it make? It’s just a seat. Sit in the middle or wherever.”
At this point, a tiny flicker of annoyance rises in my chest, but I bite it back. There’s no need to make a scene.
Not yet, anyway.
I glance at the elderly man standing beside me, the guy who’s actually supposed to have the aisle seat.
He gives me an awkward smile, clutching his boarding pass like it’s a lifeline.
I try again, still polite. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’re waiting”
“I already told you,” she snaps, cutting me off mid-sentence. “I’m staying here.”
She crosses her arms, settling in deeper.
I exchange a helpless look with the elderly man, who’s now shifting nervously from foot to foot.
I know exactly what he’s thinking—he doesn’t want to fight this battle.
And honestly, neither do I.
But now people are starting to notice the commotion, and I can feel curious eyes turning our way, waiting to see how this plays out.
Belligerence Takes Off
The flight attendant shows up before I can decide what to do.
She’s got the kind of smile that screams, “I’ve seen it all, and none of it surprises me anymore.”
Her name tag reads Lisa, and I don’t envy her job right now.
“Hi there,” Lisa says in that professional, too-sweet tone flight attendants use when they’re about two seconds from snapping.
“It looks like you might be in the wrong seat. If I could just see your boarding pass?”
The woman doesn’t even blink.
“I’m fine right here,” she says, tossing her boarding pass on the tray table like it’s a meaningless piece of paper.
Lisa picks it up and checks it, smiling tightly.
“23B,” she says. “That’s the middle seat.”
“And I prefer the window,” the woman says, as if that’s the end of the discussion.
Her tone is so calm, it’s infuriating, like she’s explaining something obvious to a child.
Lisa gives her a patient smile—the kind that says, “Oh honey, I’ve dealt with worse than you today.”
“I understand, but we have assigned seating for a reason. You’ll need to move to 23B so the other passengers can take their correct seats.”
The woman scoffs, rolling her eyes like Lisa just asked her to switch seats with a cargo crate.
“Seriously? It’s just a seat and I’m already here”
By now, the whole cabin is watching.
I can feel people shifting in their seats, craning their necks to get a better view of the unfolding drama.
A couple of passengers pull out their phones, quietly recording, because nothing brings people together on a plane like a public meltdown.
Lisa tries again, her tone still friendly but firmer this time.
“I’m afraid you’ll need to take the seat on your ticket, ma’am. That’s how seating works.”
And that’s when the woman loses it.
She leans back, raising her voice loud enough to be heard three rows away.
“I PAID for this flight, just like everyone else! Why should I get squished into some middle seat if there’s a perfectly good window seat open? You people are unbelievable!”
The elderly man takes a nervous step back, looking like he’d rather crawl into the overhead bin than deal with this.
Lisa’s smile doesn’t waver.
She’s clearly used to passengers like this, and something tells me this lady is about to learn a very hard lesson.
Lisa’s eyes narrow slightly, just enough to let me know she’s about to change tactics.
“Alright, ma’am,” she says, voice low and soothing now. “I think I have a solution. How about an upgrade?”
And just like that, the woman’s entire demeanor changes.
Her eyes light up with sudden satisfaction, and the smug grin creeps back onto her face.
“Finally. Someone with some sense.”
She grabs her designer handbag off the tray table, and her other bag and stands up with all the flair of someone being escorted to first class.
I can feel the relief in the air as she gathers her things, throwing one last condescending glance at me and the elderly man.
“Enjoy your cheap seat, sweetie,” she says, flashing a triumphant smile.
Lisa steps aside with a courteous gesture. “Right this way.”
The Walk of Triumph
The woman walks down the aisle like a queen being escorted to her throne, her chin lifted just high enough to show she feels superior to the rest of us.
You can almost hear her thoughts:
I always get what I want.
Lisa follows right behind her, that same smooth, professional smile on her face.
It’s like watching a magician’s trick unfold in slow motion, and part of me can’t help but feel impressed.
Lisa just promised this woman an “upgrade,” and the woman didn’t think twice about following her.
The passengers around me exchange glances, some murmuring about the clear unfairness.
I nudge the elderly man into his seat and settle into the window seat.
“Thank you,” he says softly, flashing me a grateful smile.
“Anytime,” I reply, distracted by the growing curiosity tugging at me. I want to know how this ends.
The woman keeps marching toward the front, her designer handbag swinging off one arm.
As she passes a row of passengers who had been recording the entire ordeal on their phones, she shoots them a smug glance, as if to say, See? I won.
She probably thinks she’s being escorted to first class, maybe with champagne waiting for her.
The best part?
She’s so caught up in her moment of triumph that she doesn’t notice the cabin door coming into view just ahead.
“Upgrade” to the Exit
Lisa stops right by the front door of the plane, where a TSA agent is standing with a strained smile.
“Here we are, ma’am,” Lisa says, her tone chipper and polite. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
The woman comes to an abrupt stop, blinking in confusion as the reality of the situation sinks in.
“Wait—what?” she stammers, glancing between Lisa and the gate agent.
Lisa doesn’t flinch. “You’re being removed from the flight for non-compliance, ma’am.”
The woman’s jaw drops. “You—you’re kicking me off? But you said I was being upgraded!”
Her voice pitches higher, teetering between shock and outrage.
Lisa’s smile never wavers. “I’m sorry if there was a misunderstanding,” she says sweetly, “but this is the only ‘upgrade’ we can offer you today.”
For a second, the woman just stands there in stunned silence, as if the idea of consequences has never crossed her mind before.
Then, just like that, the anger returns, sharp and hot.
“You can’t do this! I have rights! I demand to speak to someone in charge!”
The gate agent steps forward, calm but firm.
“Ma’am, you’re delaying the flight. If you refuse to leave voluntarily, security will escort you off the aircraft.”
The woman’s face turns bright red, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
She’s too stunned to argue, and I can see it in her eyes—she knows she’s lost.
Slowly, reluctantly, she clutches the strap of her expensive handbag and stomps off toward the jet bridge.
As the gate agent closes the cabin door behind her, the entire plane erupts into applause.
Passengers cheer, whistle, and clap as if someone just scored the winning goal at the World Cup.
I can’t help but join in, the sound of poetic justice ringing in my ears.
The flight attendant Lisa strolls back down the aisle, her smile a little less forced this time.
As she passes my row, she gives me a quick wink. “Enjoy your flight.”
I lean back into my seat, finally comfortable.
The elderly man stretches his legs and we share a quiet, relieved smile.
The engines hum to life, the plane shudders as it prepares to taxi, and all I can think is this:
Sometimes, the best upgrades are the ones you don’t see coming.