Upon boarding my flight back to LA yesterday, I contently plopped down in my window seat, stuck my earbuds in and prepared for a lovely return home. To my dismay, a lady and a dude approached me from the aisle. The woman nervously asked, “excuse me, I’m so sorry to ask this, but do you mind switching seats with my fiancé so we can sit together? He’s 2 rows up in an aisle seat.”
Come ON. Not only do I hate the aisle, I also hate spontaneity. I’m a creature of habit, and I need plenty of mental prep before my plans are altered. I can’t help but laugh when people tell me to “go with the flow.” I’ll go with the flow once I have the exact location of the flow, the time at which I’ll be going to and returning from the flow, and the names of each and every other person who will also be attending the flow.
But anyways, this plane had two seats per side rather than three, so my switching with her fiancé was the only way they would be able to sit together. Cool.
Before answering, I instantly crafted two scenarios in my mind. You may find them below:
If I say no:
I potentially destroy a relationship. I mean who knows? This could have been a last-attempt 1-on-1 romantic excursion meant to save the relationship, but they ignored that elephant in the room for the whole trip and this flight home is their final opportunity to dive into the issues. Do I want to be responsible for breaking off this engagement? Do I want both of these heart breaks on my conscience forever?
And when they inevitably tell this story in the future to their friends and family, will they dismiss all other factors leading up to the end and instead lay the heap of blame on me, the heartless bitch who wouldn’t trade seats?
Or, perhaps, this story will be told to their respective lasting partners and my role will be symbolic of fate: solidifying the fact that they should not be together. I single-handedly (a.k.a. indirectly and solely due to many, many external forces) led each of them to the true loves of their lives.
But, for the purpose of drama (the only purpose that matters), let’s assume my saying no ultimately leads to their downfall as a couple. Aside from future implications of my decision to not switch seats, the immediate result is much worse. Because, awkward. Just, how incredibly awkward.
I would be sitting, in silence, next to a woman who is not only upset about the state of her relationship, but is now also annoyed and offended that she can’t even talk to him about it. And I’m the reason. Because I booked my flight first. Has “finders keepers” lost all significance in the world of transportation? I wanted a window seat. I got myself a window seat. That’s how you get shit done in this world.
If Hollywood has taught me anything, it’s that you have to wholeheartedly, boundlessly go for what you want. Now, I haven’t yet accomplished that in Hollywood, but I sure as hell did that when booking this flight. I knew what I wanted and I wholeheartedly, boundlessly clicked “window seat.” And I probably did it before these dysfunctional lovers even turned on their computer.
And now I’m being punished with hushed anger and cold, pointed judgment from all the other passengers who were watching the situation unfold.
Well, fine. FINE. Go ahead and hate me. Hate me for proceeding with my business as I planned. See if I care. You can be angry all you want, but that won’t stop me from getting up and crawling over you to go to the bathroom every 10 minutes. Even if I don’t have to go. Especially if I don’t have to go. You want to pick a battle? You’ve got yourself a war, lady.
If I say yes:
I would kindly agree to let him sit in my window seat. I gather my things, smiling all the while, and relocate to his aisle seat. I sit down, turn to my left, and lock eyes with the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. We instantly begin chatting, connecting on every level. By the end of the flight, there’s no doubt in our minds that we were destined to be seatmates on this flight. As soon as we land, Harry (the man is Prince Harry if that hadn’t been clear before) drops to his knees and proposes. I shout “YES” over and over as the passengers and crew applaud, overwhelmed with emotion. We become best friends with the couple whose relationship I just saved (they name their first child after me), and the four of us live happily ever after in Harry’s beachside palace.
What really happened:
I said yes because it was a little awkward and I’m a relatively nice person, moved over to his aisle seat and promptly fell asleep until we landed. Least eventful flight I’ve ever had.