A man is speaking to me in broken English, explaining that his wife has the seat next to me and he has a seat in the back. “Could you switch and I sit here?” he asks. He has puppy dog eyes. Dammit.
“What seat do you have?” I ask begrudgingly, sounding like the jerk I’m about to become.
17A.
17A? Are you kidding me? 17A is not only all the way at the back of the plane but right across from the bathroom. 17A isn’t even really a seat, it’s practically a toilet.
I look back at 17A then the puppy dog. “No, I’m sorry. I’d rather not.” But a polite jerk is still a jerk.
The couple walks to the back of the plane, presumably hoping to have better luck with the passenger in 17B.
