The Struggle

Leaving work around 4:45pm was possibly the most perfect time to head over to JFK Airport. I had little difficulty getting my bags past the Union Square turnstile and the LIRR train to Jamaica was very nice, considering I even managed to grab a seat. The pre-rush hour airport traffic coupled with avoiding the baggage check line provided me with ample time to experience the T5, a brand spanking new & posh JetBlue-only terminal. We boarded a little late because of light showers, but this gave my sister, who poorly selected the "free" 2 hour subway ride in lieu of the $7.25 fifteen minute train ride, time to send her checked bags on a later flight and still catch our flight together.

Being both creatures of habit, we took window seats one in front of the other to avoid the dreaded "middle seat" and less sleep inducing aisle seat. I think we are even both particular to the right side of the plane based on early developmental sleep patterns. When it came time to grab my seat, I was pleasantly surprised to find my personal monitor already set to my favorite station. I had a brief chat with my sister and then it happened...

The middle seat was about to be inhabited by a 300+ pound elderly woman. My heart sank. Having comfort as my number one priority when flying (even slightly above landing safely...) I went from cheerful to cross in approximately 1.72 seconds. Perhaps I'm a little spoiled, but normally during a sporting event, movie, bus ride or flight I usually have the honor of both armrests. Tonight wasn't going to be one of those evenings. As she squeezed her bodice into her seat and even a few inches into my personal space, I wanted to secretly send a text message to the flight attendant stating that she was responsible for purchasing two seats. I tried to justify her getting that size, but my personal sometimes binge-worthy food bouts couldn't even fathom a metabolism so sluggish to carry that much weight. So we jockeyed for position.

This lasted for a good, tiresome 45 minutes. She would stretch, and I would move an elbow into place. I would pull down my tray table, and she would free her arms a little further out. She would grab a "Diet" Coke from the attendant, and I would move back into the pole position. I was feeling good to finally have the upper hand. Then this happened...

It's amazing how the conscience can put you on guilt trip that no other person can. I looked at her. She appeared very uncomfortable, tired, and restless. She had lived a long life, probably rife with difficulty and experiences that would probably shake my stature. She probably had no decision in the seating arrangements which were probably completed by another family member sitting behind her. She might have struggled with finding a equilibrium weight her whole life, inevitably coming up short once again. She probably was also furious that I would fight her for position for something so arbitrary as an armrest. So I sucked it up and moved my arm. The rest of the flight was actually quite uneventful. Yes, she might have even been halfway in my seat, but in my eyes she deserved it. Hopefully someone young and sprite as myself 40 years from now will do the same for me as I am tipping the scales trying to struggle for position.