During a flight home, Crystal and her husband, Alton, find themselves dealing with a frustrating passenger who keeps kicking the back of Alton’s seat.
Despite repeated requests for her to stop, the behavior continues—so Crystal takes it upon herself to put an end to it.
I was on a flight with my husband last night.
We boarded and sat down, and I soon realized that this woman in the row behind us had her bare feet up on my husband’s seat.
She was there with one of her friends. So my husband turned around and said something like, “Uh, do you think you could put your feet down?”
I think they said something in response, but I didn’t hear it, and the woman’s feet didn’t go down.
A few minutes later, my husband said, “Hey, will you get your feet off my chair? It’s extremely rude.” And still, she didn’t budge.
So I told my husband that he should find a flight attendant and get them to talk to this woman.
He did exactly that, and after a couple of minutes, a flight attendant came and talked to the woman.
She was obviously pretty peeved but begrudgingly agreed to put her feet down.
After the flight attendant left, she put her feet right back up.
At this point, I got angry. Why is it so important to you that you have your feet up on someone’s chair? You’re just being a brat.
I decided to teach her a lesson.
I could hear the beverage trolley making its way down the aisle.
“What can I get you?” the flight attendant asked.
“I’ll take a gin and tonic,” Alton said without hesitation.
“And I’ll have a bottle of water,” I said.
I unscrewed the cap slowly, and without taking a sip.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Just trust me,” I replied.
I leaned back in my seat nonchalantly and tilted the bottle, letting half of the water spill onto the woman’s bag, which was stuck between her seat and my husband’s.
The liquid soaked into the fabric quickly, leaving a dark stain.
Yet, she still hadn’t noticed what I’d done.
Then, I reached for the rest of my husband’s drink.
“Crystal,” he chuckled. “I know exactly what you’re about to do.”
“Then let me do it,” I declared.
I put my hand through the armrest and aimed directly for her feet. I emptied the drink.
“Ew!” the woman shrieked, jerking her feet back so fast that she nearly kicked her friend.
She pulled my sleeve, glaring at me.
“Did you just drop your drink on my feet?” she demanded.
I put on my most innocent expression.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Turbulence, and all that. I had no control.”
The woman looked like she was about to argue but hesitated and stayed quiet.
Instead, she mumbled something under her breath and turned to her friend, who was staring at her in shock.
I caught bits of their conversation—comments about how awful I was and how rude we were being.
“She’s just a trashy woman,” the woman said. “And she spilled alcohol all over me. I can feel it. Gross.”
“She should have just asked nicely,” the friend said stupidly.
“Yeah, but I paid for this flight, too,” she grumbled. “I deserve to have some comfort, too.”
“Some people just think that they’re better than the rest,” her friend said.
They went on for a little while. And as the food trolley did its rounds, the woman accidentally kicked my husband’s seat when she rearranged herself for her meal.
“I’m so sorry!” she said loudly.
“You actually apologized?” her friend giggled.
“Yeah,” the woman said. “Because I don’t want to have a piece of hot salmon or goodness knows what landing on my feet.”
Alton gripped my hand and laughed.
That woman’s feet stayed off my husband’s seat for the rest of the flight.
“That was something,” Alton said, shaking his head, laughter dancing in his eyes. “You really showed her.”
“I’m just tired of people thinking they can do whatever they want,” I replied. “Especially when it’s so clearly disrespectful.”
The remainder of the flight went by without incident. Every now and then, when I glanced back, the woman would glare at me, but I simply smiled and acted as if I didn’t see her.
As we started our descent, I watched her grab her bag and realize it was soaked. Her face flushed deep red, and she gave me a look that could burn through metal.
I responded with a small, polite smile and then turned away.
“I’m going to shower first,” Alton said. “And then collapse into our bed.”
“I’m with you on that,” I agreed with him.
Once we landed and it was time to get off the plane, she shoved past us, grumbling to her friend. My husband and I didn’t rush—we took our time gathering our belongings and waited for the crowd to thin before heading to the exit.
As we stepped off the plane, a wave of satisfaction washed over me.
Sometimes, a bit of harmless payback is exactly what it takes to make your point.
As we walked through the terminal, the stress of the flight fading with each step, Alton slipped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me in close.
“You know, I haven’t seen petty Crystal in a while,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice.
“Well, desperate times call for desperate measures,” I replied.
What would you have done?