Dear Apparent Patron Saint of the Manspreaders,
Let’s start with some common ground: no one likes a 6 a.m. flight. It’s likely that each person on this plane got exactly enough sleep to maximize exhaustion, which leaves everyone miserable and longing for their beds from which they were torn too soon. But here’s a shocker for you: You are not currently in your king-sized sleep habitat surrounded by blankets and pillows and mattresses and comfort, able to fling your appendages every which way with no consequences. No, you are in fact trapped in a tiny, airborne tube and surrounded by actual human beings who value their personal space in a way you seem incapable of comprehending.
Another thing to get out of the way: You CHOSE that middle seat. It was not assigned to you, nor were you part of that unfortunate category known as the Final Boarding Group, whose selection is meager and whose options are bleak. You, using your own mind-abilities and thought-factories, decided that for some reason the middle seat of Row 26 was exactly where you wanted to sit. Or, to be more precise, you decided that you wanted to sit in the middle seat but also spill over into the window seat, again by choice rather than necessity. Our bodies are approximately the same size, yet yours is taking up three times the space of my own. And herein is where we have our problem.
You see, Awful Man, I am sitting in the window seat. Yes, that’s right. I, a sentient being with both a physical body and emotional capabilities, supposedly have the right to call this seat my own personal space. I in fact paid money for this particular personal space. Yet you desire to take at least $87 worth of that sacred seat? Not on my watch.
I mean that literally. Get off my watch. It’s digging into my wrist.
When you first eased your elbow just past our shared arm rest, I was annoyed yet understanding. Middle seats have a lot of constraints (although let me once again remind me that you CHOSE those constraints) and I am a gracious enough human (a concept with which you perhaps are unfamiliar) that I kindly allowed you the use of that arm rest. But then the protruding elbow became an arm, and the gradually shifting knee became a leg. Before I knew it, an entire human side had emerged into my sensory field. Since this is a plane ride and not a science fiction movie, I would much prefer not to see partial bodies invading a private section of this flying machine.
At this point, I have two options. I could shove you back into your seat and continue to rebuff the strange manflesh encroaching on my space, which would probably require my full attention for the duration of the flight. Or I could curl up in my seat, turn toward the window, and let you have the female-occupied space you for some reason feel entitled to.
Haha, so funny that you thought that second option was real. What a hoot. AS IF.
Let me just warn you: the next two hours are going to be a battle. The invading forces of your overconfident masculinity are not welcome here. You may push, and I will push back. You may overflow, and I will expand. And I’ll be sleeping the whole time this goes on because you are out of your oblivious little mind if you think I’m not going to get back some of the sleep I lost when trying to make this flight.
It. Is. On.
I Deserve A Whole Seat Too