Ever had seatmates from hell? Meet the newlyweds who turned my 14-hour flight into a nightmare. They thought the plane was their honeymoon suite. When they pushed too far, I decided it was time for some turbulence of my own making to deliver an unforgettable lesson in airplane etiquette.
They say love is in the air, but on my recent flight, it was pure chaos. Hey there! I’m Toby, 35 years old, and I’ve got a wild story that’ll make you think twice about your next flight. So, picture this: I’m on a plane, counting down the minutes until I can hug my wife and kid after being away overseas for what felt like forever. Enter two entitled newlyweds who turned my flight into a full-blown nightmare…
I’d splurged on a premium economy seat for this 14-hour journey. Honestly, when you’re staring down the barrel of that many hours in a metal tube, every extra inch of legroom counts.
As I settled in, feeling pretty good about my decision, the guy next to me cleared his throat.
“Hey there,” he said, flashing a grin. “I’m Dave. Listen, I hate to ask, but would you mind switching seats with my wife? We just got married, and, well… you know.”
I plastered on my best ‘congratulations’ smile. “That’s great, man. Congrats! Where’s your wife sitting?”
Dave pointed towards the back of the plane, his smile faltering a bit. “That’s my Lia back there. In economy.”
Now, I’m not a monster. I get it, newlyweds want to be close. But I’d paid good money for this seat, and I wasn’t about to give it up for free.
“Look, Dave,” I said, trying to keep it friendly. “I paid extra for this seat because I really need the comfort. But hey, if you want to cover the difference, about a thousand Australian dollars, I’d be happy to switch.”
Dave’s face darkened. “A thousand bucks? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I shrugged. “Sorry, buddy. That’s the deal. Otherwise, I’m staying put.”
As I popped in my earbuds, I caught a glimpse of Dave’s face. Let’s just say, if looks could kill, I’d have been a goner right there and then.
“You’ll regret this,” he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.
Little did I know, those three words were about to turn my peaceful flight into a war zone at 30,000 feet.
First came the coughing. Not your run-of-the-mill clearing of the throat, mind you. We’re talking full-on, hack-up-a-lung explosions that had me wondering if I should be reaching for a hazmat suit.
“You okay there, Dave?” I asked, trying to keep my cool.
He shot me a look that could curdle milk. “Never better,” he wheezed, before launching into another fit.
Just as I was considering offering him a cough drop (or maybe an entire pharmacy), Dave decided to up the ante. He whipped out his tablet and started blasting some action movie. Without headphones.
The couple across the aisle gave us the stink eye. “Hey, buddy,” the guy said to Dave. “Mind turning that down?”
Dave smiled sweetly. “Sorry, forgot my headphones. Guess we’ll all have to enjoy it together.”
I gritted my teeth, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the armrest. “Dave, come on. This isn’t cool.”
He turned to me, his eyes glinting. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable? That must be awful.”
Before I could respond, a shower of crumbs rained down on my lap. Dave had somehow managed to turn eating pretzels into an Olympic event, scattering more on me than in his mouth.
“Oops,” he said, not even trying to hide his smirk. “Butter fingers.”