Unconscious Brain: Alert! Alert! Alert!
Conscious Brain: Wut?
Unconscious Brain: Fat person coming!
Conscious Brain: Wait, wut? Where?
Unconscious Brain: She’s in the aisle, but don’t look now! Whatever you do, don’t make eye contact!
Conscious: Um, okay.
Unconscious: Quick, quick, quick. You have three choices.
Choice one: Scooch over to take up as much of the empty seat as possible. Make it clear she won’t fit in that seat even if she wanted to. She’ll walk on by, looking for a more welcoming space.
Choice two: Keep making eye contact and let her sit there. But make sure she knows that you’re annoyed AF that she’s infringing on your seat space. Sigh and stuff.
Choice three: Grab a barf bag and fill it with whatever you can find. Put it in the empty seat. Shrug your shoulders when she looks at it, like ‘I guess it’s puke?’
So what’s it going to be? I need a decision STAT!
Conscious: Oh shit, okay. I’ll make a small smile, so I don’t feel like a total asshole. But not too much of a smile, so it’s not inviting in any way. Then I’ll look down at my book real quick. Will that work?
Unconscious: The smile is risky. Even a little one.
Conscious: Okay, I’ll just look at my book then.
Her Brain: Yeah, I get it lady. You don’t want me to sit there. Message RECEIVED. Shit, this is humiliating.
Me: This seat is open. Welcome.
Before I had weight loss surgery, I dreaded flying. Well, not flying really, but finding my place on a plane. If I could buy two seats, I would, but that wasn’t always possible.
Maybe a client booked the flight for me.
Maybe there wasn’t room on the flight.
Maybe the airline said I didn’t need one.
Maybe I couldn’t afford one.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Now, I make eye contact with you early.
I may even point at the empty seat to let you know it’s available.
I ask you your name and where you’re headed.
Only then do I start reading my book.
Will I be less comfortable on the flight?
Who the fuck cares. I’ll be fine.
I worry about what’s comfortable for you.
The world punishes you enough for being overweight.
You don’t need airline passengers giving you the message that your size is not okay.
You’re given that message every single fucking day.
So grab the seat next to me. It’s wide open.
Great read Lucie!
Thanks for reading, Marianne. Can’t wait until we can have these conversations in person, over coffee. Get back home, pretty please.
Reminds me of the story about a friend of mine’s dad who experienced the same discomfort when a rather rotund man sat down in the seat beside him. That all changed rather quickly, however, when the flight attendant said to the man, “We’re so thrilled to have you on this flight, Mr. Pavoratti!”
Perfection. Every person sitting next to us is a star we have not yet recognized.
I’ve been both women at different points in my life. This resonated. Brava!
Here’s to us!
Who the fuck cares. I’ll be fine.
Stealing. New mantra.
It’s a good one 🙂
I have not encountered this problem but family members have and it’s heartbreaking
Quite. I used to only like to fly if my kids flew with me, so they could take the seat next to mine.
And asking for a seat belt extender was a whole nother level of humiliation.