Flying is supposed to be simple: find your seat, settle in, and try to get through the hours with as little discomfort as possible.
Some people, though, think those rules don’t apply to them.
And their complete lack of self awareness (or consideration to others) is revolting.
Fortunately, Karma has a way of evening the score.
Tangled Annoyance
Settling into my seat, I sighed in relief. My carry-on fit easily into the overhead bin, and the screen in front of me was working—a minor miracle on flights these days.
I was looking forward to tuning out the noise with a few episodes of a mindless sitcom.
Then, just as I was scrolling through the options, a curtain of hair flopped over the top of the seat in front of me.
It wasn’t just a stray strand or two. No, this was a deliberate cascade of long, shiny locks, perfectly styled and now completely obscuring my screen.
I blinked, thinking maybe the owner hadn’t noticed what they’d done.
I leaned forward and spoke quietly, not wanting to make a scene.
“Excuse me, your hair’s blocking my screen.”
The hair lifted momentarily, and I caught a glimpse of its owner—a woman flipping it back over her shoulder with a dramatic flourish.
“Sorry,” she said, though it didn’t sound like she meant it.
Grateful for the reprieve, I settled back into my seat and clicked on my show.
But not five minutes later, the hair was back.
I hesitated. Maybe it was just a habit—some absentminded fidgeting.
I gave it a gentle push to the side, hoping to avoid another awkward exchange. The hair moved, but almost immediately, it swung back into place.
“Really?” I muttered under my breath.
This time, I leaned forward again. “I’m sorry, but your hair is covering my screen again.”
She turned her head slightly, not enough to meet my eyes.
“It’s just hair,” she said with a tone that somehow managed to be both casual and condescending.
I sat back, biting my tongue.
The Hair Strikes Back
As the flight attendants passed by with drinks and snacks, I tried to distract myself with a book.
But it was hard to focus knowing that every time I looked up, that curtain of hair would still be there.
The situation went from annoying to outright ridiculous when the woman in front of me flipped her hair over the seat yet again—this time, with an exaggerated huff that made it clear she was doing it on purpose.
I glanced to my left and noticed the child seated next to me, swinging his legs and chewing a piece of bright pink gum.
He was stretching it between his fingers, twisting it like taffy. His mother, preoccupied with a magazine, didn’t seem to notice.
I smirked at the thought of the gum landing in the hair in front of me but quickly shook it off. The last thing I needed was another confrontation.
The hum of the plane and my growing frustration made my eyelids heavy, and soon enough, I let the book rest on my lap and drifted off to sleep.
A Sticky Discovery
I was jolted awake by a sound no one ever wants to hear on a flight—a shriek so loud it seemed to rattle the overhead bins.
Groggy and disoriented, I blinked at the chaos unfolding in front of me.
The woman who’d spent the last hour using my screen as a backdrop for her hair was clawing at her locks, her face contorted in a mix of fury and panic.
Her shriek had turned into a string of garbled exclamations as her hands frantically tugged at the strands of her hair.
“What is this?!” she yelled, twisting around to glare at everyone and no one.
Passengers nearby turned to look, some craning their necks to see what was happening. A flight attendant hurried down the aisle, trying to assess the situation.
“My hair!” the woman cried. “There’s gum in it! Who would—how—?”
She sputtered, gesturing wildly at her tangled mess of hair, now matted with a sticky glob of pink chewing gum.
I blinked, still piecing together what was happening. Then I glanced to my left.
The little boy next to me sat wide-eyed, his hands clasped tightly around the remnants of his gum wrapper. His mother was frantically whispering something to him, her face a mix of horror and mortification.
And that’s when it clicked.
I bit my lip, holding back a laugh as the pieces fell into place.
The gum. The dangling hair. The perfect, unintended storm.
“I don’t know how this happened!” the woman shrieked again, turning to the flight attendant, who now looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.
The attendant kept her composure, though her lips twitched, as if suppressing a smirk.
“Ma’am, let me see if we have something to help with that,” she said diplomatically. “It may take a moment.”
The woman, still panicking, ran her hands through her hair, only making things worse.
The gum was well and truly stuck, stretched across several strands and smeared deep into the roots.
Sticky Endings
The flight attendant returned with a pair of scissors and a small bottle of something that looked like oil.
She knelt beside the woman and spoke softly, trying to calm her down.
“Unfortunately, we may have to cut out the section with the gum,” the attendant explained, holding up the scissors.
The woman recoiled as if she’d been offered a live snake. “Cut it? Are you insane? Do you know how long it took to grow this?”
“Then we can try the oil,” the attendant said patiently, though her tone made it clear this wasn’t going to end well.
Passengers around us were murmuring now, their amusement barely concealed. A man across the aisle shook his head, whispering, “Karma,” to his seatmate.
The woman’s protests grew louder as the attendant tried to work the oil into the gum, but it was no use. The sticky mess had spread too far.
“You need to sit still, ma’am,” the attendant said firmly, her patience wearing thin. “Otherwise, I can’t help you.”
By now, most of the cabin was watching. The woman’s earlier self-assuredness had melted into a public spectacle of embarrassment.
Her eyes darted around, as if realizing just how much attention she was drawing.
Finally, she sighed dramatically and muttered, “Fine. Do whatever you have to do.”
The flight attendant snipped away the gum-covered strands, leaving the woman with a noticeable chunk missing from her otherwise pristine hair.
When the gum was finally gone, she grabbed the scissors and mirror from the attendant and glared at her reflection, her face flushing red.
“That boy,” she hissed, her eyes darting toward the child next to me. “It must’ve been him!”
The mother immediately jumped in, apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry! He didn’t mean to—he’s just a kid!”
But the woman wasn’t hearing it. She muttered under her breath as she gathered her things, clearly more upset about her hair than anything else.
As she sat back down, defeated, I couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of justice.
For all her dismissive remarks, her hair had become the center of attention—just not in the way she’d intended.
By the time we landed, she was the first to disembark, avoiding eye contact with everyone.
The little boy, meanwhile, was happily chewing another piece of gum, oblivious to the role he’d played in the day’s drama.
I grabbed my bag and stepped into the aisle, catching the eye of the flight attendant. She gave me a knowing look, her lips quirking into a faint smile.
“Have a good day,” she said, as if we shared some unspoken understanding.
“Oh, I will,” I replied, stepping off the plane and into the terminal.
Sometimes, karma doesn’t just balance the scales—it sticks.