I was comfortably settled in my aisle seat enjoying the extra legroom, when a couple rudely approached. The woman, exuding entitlement, demanded, “You need to switch seats with me. I messed up the booking and won’t sit away from my husband.”
I glanced at her ticket — row 12, middle seat, far from the premium seat I’d chosen. She scoffed at my hesitation and added dismissively, “It’s just a seat. You don’t need all that space anyway.”
