I was on a flight to St. Louis, comfortably settled into my window seat. A young Black man came along and settled into the aisle seat, and later white woman #1 got settled in the middle. Across the aisle sat a white man.

I was just starting to read a book I could not wait to finish (and not in a good way) when I heard benign chatter from white woman #2 as she made her way down the aisle. Our row was full so I paid her no mind until…

WW2: “Would you mind swapping seats with me so I could sit next to my friend?”

I look up to see she is addressing the young Black man. Lord have mercy Jesus. Here. we. go.

YBM: “Well, where are you seated?”

WW2: “Over here, same row, in the middle.”

Now let’s pause and analyze this moment. It’s not complicated: she felt entitled to sit next to her friend, and assumed YBM would endure the discomfort of an effing MIDDLE SEAT to enable her comfort. Let’s resume.

YBM (looking past WM to the aforementioned middle seat): “The middle one?”

At that point I am shooting looks at WW2 that should have dematerialized her, and I’m about to jump in to the young brother’s defense when…

WW2 (smiling): “Oh you’d rather stay in the aisle. I get it. No problem!”

She said it with no snark whatsoever and old Lisa almost crept in to give her credit for coming to her senses, but Current Lisa snatched that chick right back to her place in the past. Of course WW2 gets no credit. She should’ve never disturbed YBM IN THE FIRST DAMN PLACE.

I’ve had arguments with a couple of people about this. Allow me to quote an old adage that summarizes my position:

Your lack of preparedness does not constitute my emergency.

If she wanted to sit next to her friend so badly, why not take the time — days ago — to reserve two seats together? I’ll tell you why not: because she thought Oh I’ll just ask somebody to trade seats with me. Just another day in her life of privilege. I for one am very particular about where I sit on planes and the only time I have ever traded seats was when I ended up in another aisle seat, just one row forward. In other words, when it was of benefit to me as well.

Getting back to the plane. I was so proud of that young man I wanted to give him a high five, but we had WW1 between us. So I gently tapped her knee to announce I would be in her space for a moment, leaned over and tapped the YBM for his attention and said “Good for you.” He gave me a half smile back and nodded. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the white man across the aisle looking at us both. I couldn’t read his expression to tell whether he was supportive or slightly disdainful but he wasn’t going to kill my joy.

Throughout the flight I had my headphones on as usual but I could hear WW2 talking that white man’s head off. Reflecting on it now I think perhaps the look he had given us wasn’t about the failed trade but rather the pending running commentary from his loquacious new row mate.