While Crystal and her husband, Alton, are on a flight home, they encounter an annoying passenger who continuously kicks against Alton’s seat. After asking her to stop numerous times, Crystal decides to take matters into her own hands.
I was on a flight with my husband last night. We were finally on our way back home after spending a week with his parents. I couldn’t wait to be back in my own bed.
“I’ve missed our shower the most,” Alton said. “Mom and dad’s place is okay, but our water pressure is unbeatable.”
We boarded and everything seemed like it would be a smooth journey.
“Come, I’ll take your bags, Crystal,” Alton said, taking my backpack.
Finally, we settled into our seats, and soon after, the hum of the engines was the comforting white noise I needed to dose off on the flight.
But as I was pushing my seat back, I noticed something that immediately set my teeth on edge. The woman in the row behind us had her bare feet up on my husband’s seat.
“Why?” I muttered to myself at the same time the woman kicked Alton’s seat. She was chatting animatedly with her friend, completely oblivious to how rude she was being.
I glanced at my husband, hoping that he’d do something. He’s usually so patient, but this was too much even for him.
“Uh, do you think you could put your feet down?” he asked, turning around to face the woman.
She glanced at him, exchanged a few words with her friend, and then laughed. I couldn’t hear exactly what she said, but it was clear that her feet weren’t going anywhere.
Then, it was time for the in-flight safety protocol, so we all sat upright and paid attention for a few moments. But a few minutes later, the woman began chatting again, her feet constantly pushing into my husband’s seat.
Alton turned around again, his voice firmer this time.
“Hey, will you get your feet off my chair? It’s quite an annoyance now.”
Of course, the woman didn’t even bother to respond this time. She just rolled her eyes and continued her conversation, her feet firmly planted onto his seat.
I could see my husband’s shoulders tense up. This was going to be a long flight.
“Honey, why don’t you find a flight attendant?” I suggested, trying to keep my voice calm.
I didn’t want to step in yet. And I knew Alton didn’t want me to step in either. We both knew how petty and ridiculous I could be if I was called to it.
He nodded and stood up, making his way down the aisle. Moments later, he returned with a flight attendant in tow.
She was a tall woman with a no-nonsense attitude.
“Oh, she’ll fix this,” I muttered to Alton as he sat down.
The flight attendant leaned down and spoke to the woman behind us, her voice low and authoritative.
“I just wanted to take a nap,” Alton said.
My husband yawned and closed his eyes.
But I turned around; I wanted to see what the woman’s reaction was.
She was clearly annoyed, and she finally put her feet down. I thought that would be the end of it, but no sooner had the flight attendant walked away than her feet were back up.
The audacity?!
At this point, petty Crystal was ready to make an appearance.
Who did she think she was? Why was it so important for her to have her feet up on someone else’s seat? She was just being a brat.
I glanced at Alton, who was now visibly uncomfortable and trying to ignore the feet pressing against his seat.
That was it.
I could hear the beverage trolley making its way down the aisle, making my plan easy to execute.
“What can I get you?” the flight attendant asked Alton and me.
“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, smiled.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes narrowed slightly.
“Just trust me,” I replied.
I casually leaned back in my seat and tipped the bottle over, pouring half of its contents onto the woman’s bag that was wedged between her seat and my husband’s.
The water seeped into the fabric, darkening it immediately.
Petty Crystal was here to play.
But still, the woman hadn’t realized what I’d done.
Next, I took the remainder 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 turned to face her, putting on my most innocent expression.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Turbulence, and all that. I had no control.”
The woman opened her mouth to argue, but then seemed to think better of it.
Instead, she muttered something under her breath and turned back to her friend, who was staring at her, wide-eyed.
I could hear snippets of their conversation, something about how disgusting I was and how rude we were.
“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 when the food trolley did its rounds, the woman accidentally kicked my husband’s seat as 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.
But you know what? Her 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 rest of the flight passed uneventfully. Whenever I turned around, the woman shot me a glare every so often, but I just smiled and pretended not to notice.
As we began our descent, I saw the woman reach for her bag and notice that it was wet. Her face turned crimson, and she shot me a look that could have melted steel.
I just gave her a small, tight-lipped smile and looked 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.
When we landed and it was time to disembark, she brushed past us, muttering angrily to her friend. My husband and I took our time gathering our things and letting the crowd thin out before we made our way to the exit.
As we stepped off the plane, I felt a sense of contentment wash over me.
Sometimes, a little petty revenge is just what you need to make a point.
As we strolled through the terminal, the tension of the flight melting away with each step, Alton wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me 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?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
Flight Attendant Forced Me to Kneel on the Plane While Pregnant – Her Reason Left Me in Shock
Kayla, grieving the loss of her grandmother, is about to return home after the funeral. But when she boards her flight, she has no idea about the nightmare that awaits her. In a case of mistaken identity, Kayla has no choice but to rely on her wits and quick thinking to get her out of the hot water she has landed in.
After a few long days of grieving, I was ready to collapse into my own bed. I was six months pregnant and emotionally drained from my grandmother’s funeral.
The funeral had been tough, but it was a poignant farewell to a woman who had been my rock throughout my life.
“Are you sure you want to leave today?” my mother asked as I packed my suitcase. “You can wait a few days if you need to just sit with this loss.”
I smiled at her sadly.
“I know,” I said. “But I need to get back to work and back to Colin. You know my husband barely manages without me.”
“I suppose it’s a good idea for you to be in your comfort zone,” she said. “But Dad and I have decided that we’ll stay until the end of the week just to sort Gran’s house out and finalize anything that needs to be done. I know that Dad cannot wait to get home.”
“I just wish that Gran would have been around to see the baby,” I said, rubbing my hand along my belly. “That’s what I’ve wanted all along.”
“I know, honey,” my mother said. “I wish that you and Gran could have had that moment, but it’s okay, darling. At least you were here in the end when Gran needed you the most.”
Now, I was navigating the long lines at the airport. I had hated flying, but it was much easier to fly home than drive. I couldn’t manage spending twelve hours in a car with my bladder fighting me.
But finally, I made it onto the plane, ready for the journey back home to my husband.
“I’ll take that, ma’am,” a flight attendant told me, reaching out for my bag.
“Thank you,” I said, settling into my seat, my body aching for rest.
“Oh, I hate flying,” the woman next to me said. “It’s the worst. But I hate driving too. I should have just stayed home.”
I almost laughed because I agreed completely. I hated the turbulence that came with flying. It made me feel uneasy and anxious, as though I was absolutely losing control with each jolt.
But still, as I sat back, ready for the flight to take off and take me home, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was staring at me.
Read the full story here
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
