I paid extra for 12A on an overnight flight specifically so I could lean against the wall and sleep. I get to my row, and there’s already a woman settled in my seat, eye mask pulled up on her forehead, sipping a complimentary water.
"Excuse me, I think you’re in 12A," I say, holding up my boarding pass.
She doesn't even look at it. "Oh, I’m in 12C. But I really get claustrophobic in the aisle. You don't mind swapping, right? It's the same row."
"Actually, I do mind. I specifically booked the window so I could sleep."
She sighs, the kind of heavy, dramatic sigh that implies I’m being the difficult one. "It’s a three-hour flight. Surely you can be a good Samaritan."
I keep my voice completely flat. "I’m not a good Samaritan. I’m a tired person who paid $45 extra for that exact headrest. Please move."