Stillness on an Uncomfortable Flight

Ever heard of Frontier Airlines? The low budget commercial flight service is perfect for those of us who want the miracle of flight and almost nothing else. While popular airlines commonly boast their inflight goodies, above average legroom, and top of the line customer service, Frontier found room in the market for a company with the opposite approach. The seats are uncomfortable, you’re allowed one free personal item (a carry-on will cost you), and their service reps only speak Swahili. By stripping away all frills from the service they’re able to charge the cheapest air fare in the industry. It’s an excellent unlock of value and they have a rare direct flight that’s convenient for me to take a couple times a year.

I wound up in a mental pretzel on my last flight with them and had to put these thoughts on paper to clear my head. I never choose a seat when I fly Frontier because even the last seat in the back will cost extra to reserve. I’ve had good luck doing so in the past, but this time around I wound up with a middle seat. Luck of the draw. I made my way there with the second boarding group and sat in my empty row waiting to let the lucky window seater in. Something was taking them quite long. My isle seat neighbor arrived, and we kept waiting as the attendants assured us they were expecting a couple stragglers. I wasn’t on the edge of my seat as I already came to terms with my fate on a full flight. I was just happy to be young and strong enough that five hours in this wedge would hardly set me back. It’s a nice privilege to appreciate once in a while.

Just as we were being told the cabin was sealed, something funny happened. I was moments from accepting the rare gift of my neighbor missing their flight. No one had claimed the window seat, so it seemed safe to move over when someone popped up in the isle and told my row mate and I they needed to get into the seat next to me. My neighbor got up and began the routine we had both expected to carry out all along. I fell in line quite efficiently and made way for them to slide into the window seat that had my mouth watering up until this moment. It was flawless. Very few words were required to politely remove us so that we could file back into the proper juxtaposition of a full flight. I remember thinking to myself that this was a real photo finish. They even apologized for making us get up, but I was happy to do it for such a sober request.

It took me all of five seconds to begin over analyzing the situation, and by the time I was seated again my CPU was in overdrive. Suddenly the timeline wasn’t adding up. I had been staring ahead trying to contain my excitement for several minutes when our new row mate showed up. The deal was sealed once we were told everyone had boarded and no one was making their way towards us from the plane’s entrance. So, where’d this person come from? I’m starting to suffer now as speculation turns my new neighbor into a super villain. I’m wondering if it’s possible that it wasn’t their assigned seat. Could it be that they had their eyes on it and wasted no time to pounce once the doors were closed? I’m stewing in my middle seat while I get creative with this narrative.

It’s funny how we do this to ourselves. Riding a plane is the modest human’s way of equaling capabilities known only to the birds, and the proud human’s way of surpassing them. I have no time for such nonsense in my situation. At this point I’ve been wronged. “By whom?” wonder’s my inner monologue. Well, there’s the weasel sitting next to me, but worse, I’ve wronged myself. Why hadn’t I asked if it was their seat before I put it in autopilot and made way? Sure, but couldn’t they have lied? Well, I could’ve asked to see their boarding pass. And what if they copped to the charge and revealed that it wasn’t their seat, but they wanted it? Now I’ve pissed away a chance for the spotlight. I could’ve exposed them for pirating a seat that was rightfully mine. Did they really think I wouldn’t like to move over and enjoy the window and some extra room? I could’ve spoken up for the territory and been my own hero. Oh, and the one-liners. AH! Line after line of snarky tell-offs that would’ve banished the offender are flashing through my head. I’m a hero! I get a standing ovation from everyone on board.

I relive fantasy after miserable fantasy while the damn plane is being de-iced for what feels like a decade. The scarcity mindset poisons my self-talk while it devolves into putrid insults. “Fool”, “Pushover”, “Follower”. Suffering is officially an understatement. The real kicker is I know what I’m doing, and I just can’t stop it. I know I haven’t any proof that they poached the seat. I know that if I had prevailed and were sitting in my windowed throne, (that I had no right to in the first place), with an empty seat next to me, I wouldn’t feel any different. And I know it isn’t personal. Even if they did set out for this upgrade and get lucky that I aped into line no questions asked, they didn’t do it to hurt me. If my wild assumptions are true and their plan just happened to work, it was an impressive move. To be bested never feels good, and in the time between the incident and takeoff I had to watch myself run through this victimization algorithm like a windup toy.

The solution? You just read it. I spent about an hour torturing myself until we were airborne, and I could get out my laptop to release this all. By the time we were lifting off I was finally coming around to the idea that this is what I expected all along. I’m sandwiched between two blokes on the hardest seats in the US, and after an hour and a half of typing I’m finally feeling normal. It’s easy to make yourself at home in a cruel reality like I’ve here described. I may be projecting my experience, but it’s hard for me to believe this is uncommon. There was a time in my life when I was quite fond of misery and would’ve been glad to maintain that state of mind for the entire flight. Since my preferences have changes, I often reflect on that old way of life as if it were an illness that I was able to remedy. Whether or not my self-diagnosis was accurate, the symptoms do return in times like these. When they do, taking interest in the nature of my thoughts has been pivotal in reducing time to recovery. I’m glad to be in a position to engage such issues.

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