Yeah, you know this guy.
He's the one who doesn’t follow in- flight etiquette and wait until after dinner to fully recline in your lap to the point he’s gazing at the underside of your bust.
Oh no...this one comes flying back as soon as you’re settled.
Ack, here comes the beverage cart. Where the hell is your drink going to go?
If you open your tray, you can’t breathe since the Edge is against your rib cage and that max recliner is not about to sit still.
He throws himself back against that seat, desperate to obliterate your body completely so he can have your paltry 6” of legroom too, jarring your lungs with every accompanying sigh/wiggle/struggle- just what the hell IS he doing up there?
I am not above offering a bribe, maybe $20 for each notch he moves back up towards a full upright position. I mean hey it’s making me look bad since I have to recline at least partways into the poor man behind me just to scratch my shin.
The universe has to be sending me some message with this. Maybe Max has been brought into my life to teach me an important lesson.
Okay I’m closing my eyes and concentrating really hard, I’m seeing something, I’ve got it.... “pay extra for the bulkhead”!
Please, learn from my mistake.
Let my lungs’ distress help you make a better choice in seat selection at least.
Even if you can’t be your best self, or live your best life, you CAN choose your best seat!
Just call me your coach ( what they used to call the hell that is economy on flights) coach.
Oh hallelujah, dinner’s coming and on this very civilized British Airways flight (they offer you wine with dinner , coffee & tea after, even in this economy ( today's modern spelling of Hades) section where I sit with the rest of the riff-raff.
Whoohoo I get two hours before he’s on top of me again.