Image search for "Knee Defender" produced this. Go figure A series of mid-flight squabbles over passengers reclining their seats on airplanes over the objections of passengers being reclined upon has resulted in flight diversions on several airlines over the past week, including one incident in which a woman threw her drink at the man preventing her from enjoying their flight in a reclined way by using a device called the "Knee Defender."
Throwing your soda at another passenger on a plane is just wrong, no matter how much they deserve it. First, innocent passengers may get splashed. Second, it demonstrates weak moral fiber. Anybody can throw a courtesy beverage. Order something alcoholic. You'll think twice about tossing a nine-dollar drink at your neighboring flier, no matter how offensive his or her behavior. Instead, if that behavior rises to a level of unpleasantness that needs remonstration, gently wap them with the in-flight magazine. You can also attempt to inflict a facial wound using the edge of the laminated safety card. When wielded at the proper angle, this produces a dueling scar that is the equal of any made by a thrust of the epee.
As far as the reclining war, I suggest pro-reclining passengers prepare themselves as they would for any military campaign. Do as I do—immediately after shoving your carry-on, which is technically legal but which you have stuffed with enough personal items so that it bulges outward as implacably as Russia, into the overhead bin, punching it into place with your fists so that any delicate items your fellow passengers have foolishly placed there are crushed by it, take your seat and immediately recline it. Keep it reclined during the inevitable forty-five minute wait for connecting passengers. Once they have marched aboard, nearly always glaring at you, the on-time passenger, as if it your fault the flight is delayed, the pilot will inform you that seats must be upright for takeoff.
You must comply with this, otherwise the flight attendants will come by and rap your seat moodily, treating you not as a fellow human being but as what you are to them, a temporary impediment to binge-drinking in a solitary hotel room. Do not let this prevent you from reclaiming your territory. Let that seat back again as soon as the nose wheel lifts off the ground. Pretend the acceleration of takeoff is pushing it into the nose of the guy behind you, not you personally.
Since this character has stowed his computer for takeoff, you will not be able to smash it flat onto his fingers by reclining your seat, which is too bad. Using your computer for anything other than watching movies or playing Candy Crush Saga on an airplane just screams LOOK HOW IMPORTANT AND RESPONSIBLE I AM. EVEN BEING CRAMMED INTO A METAL TUBE WITH 90 PEOPLE I DON'T LIKE DOESN'T PREVENT ME FROM CONCENTRATING ON MY JOB, WHICH IS BETTER THAN YOURS BECAUSE I HAVE TO WORK CONSTANTLY!
Yeah, right. You, my flying companion, just don't want to deal with another person who is wedged in so closely next to you that, if you were on the ground, your next move would be kissing them. My policy is to force the people sitting next to me to deal with me. I loudly give them my opinions on sports, politics and the body spray they are wearing. If they are enjoying a book or a newspaper, I blatantly read over their shoulders, sometimes turning the pages if they are slower readers than I am. If it is a book, I tell them how it ends. I don't actually have to know the ending—just making one up will cause them to slap it shut in annoyance and pretend to sleep. Then you just quietly murmur "Are you still sleeping?" every five minutes. Even though you know they are not, because it is almost impossible to sleep when you are boiling over with hatred and ill-will, they will never answer you back. Try it!
Unlike most people, I enjoy sitting next to a child. Whatever annoyances the kid plans to visit on you are more than made up for by the child's small size. My worst plane flight ever was being forced to sit next to a guy who apparently had never had a meal that didn't include cake or pie in his life. He oozed over into my seat like a haboob of flesh. He was a genial, interesting man with a nice repertoire of stories and jokes. I still fantasize about stabbing him.
A kid gives you plenty of room, and it is easy to sweep his puny forearm off the armrest. If the child decides to cry or whine, I don't care. I have a child, so I have the selective hearing that comes with raising one. If another person's child is crying, my first, happy thought is "Hey, that's not my problem," and then I order another drink.
If the child insists on interacting with me, and its parent doesn't forbid it out of fear I am planning on kidnapping the youngster, I quickly teach the baby how the seat pocket in front of it is filled with generations of filth, including intriguing gum chunks flung down there by people who were too lazy to press their used Chiclets on the bottom of their seats and crushed bits of ancient hard candy whose mouth-feel must be sampled. After a few minutes of this, the parent calls the flight attendant and requests to be seated elsewhere, and I have everybody's favorite flying companion next to me again.
An empty seat.
Throwing your soda at another passenger on a plane is just wrong, no matter how much they deserve it. First, innocent passengers may get splashed. Second, it demonstrates weak moral fiber. Anybody can throw a courtesy beverage. Order something alcoholic. You'll think twice about tossing a nine-dollar drink at your neighboring flier, no matter how offensive his or her behavior. Instead, if that behavior rises to a level of unpleasantness that needs remonstration, gently wap them with the in-flight magazine. You can also attempt to inflict a facial wound using the edge of the laminated safety card. When wielded at the proper angle, this produces a dueling scar that is the equal of any made by a thrust of the epee.
As far as the reclining war, I suggest pro-reclining passengers prepare themselves as they would for any military campaign. Do as I do—immediately after shoving your carry-on, which is technically legal but which you have stuffed with enough personal items so that it bulges outward as implacably as Russia, into the overhead bin, punching it into place with your fists so that any delicate items your fellow passengers have foolishly placed there are crushed by it, take your seat and immediately recline it. Keep it reclined during the inevitable forty-five minute wait for connecting passengers. Once they have marched aboard, nearly always glaring at you, the on-time passenger, as if it your fault the flight is delayed, the pilot will inform you that seats must be upright for takeoff.
You must comply with this, otherwise the flight attendants will come by and rap your seat moodily, treating you not as a fellow human being but as what you are to them, a temporary impediment to binge-drinking in a solitary hotel room. Do not let this prevent you from reclaiming your territory. Let that seat back again as soon as the nose wheel lifts off the ground. Pretend the acceleration of takeoff is pushing it into the nose of the guy behind you, not you personally.
Since this character has stowed his computer for takeoff, you will not be able to smash it flat onto his fingers by reclining your seat, which is too bad. Using your computer for anything other than watching movies or playing Candy Crush Saga on an airplane just screams LOOK HOW IMPORTANT AND RESPONSIBLE I AM. EVEN BEING CRAMMED INTO A METAL TUBE WITH 90 PEOPLE I DON'T LIKE DOESN'T PREVENT ME FROM CONCENTRATING ON MY JOB, WHICH IS BETTER THAN YOURS BECAUSE I HAVE TO WORK CONSTANTLY!
Yeah, right. You, my flying companion, just don't want to deal with another person who is wedged in so closely next to you that, if you were on the ground, your next move would be kissing them. My policy is to force the people sitting next to me to deal with me. I loudly give them my opinions on sports, politics and the body spray they are wearing. If they are enjoying a book or a newspaper, I blatantly read over their shoulders, sometimes turning the pages if they are slower readers than I am. If it is a book, I tell them how it ends. I don't actually have to know the ending—just making one up will cause them to slap it shut in annoyance and pretend to sleep. Then you just quietly murmur "Are you still sleeping?" every five minutes. Even though you know they are not, because it is almost impossible to sleep when you are boiling over with hatred and ill-will, they will never answer you back. Try it!
Unlike most people, I enjoy sitting next to a child. Whatever annoyances the kid plans to visit on you are more than made up for by the child's small size. My worst plane flight ever was being forced to sit next to a guy who apparently had never had a meal that didn't include cake or pie in his life. He oozed over into my seat like a haboob of flesh. He was a genial, interesting man with a nice repertoire of stories and jokes. I still fantasize about stabbing him.
A kid gives you plenty of room, and it is easy to sweep his puny forearm off the armrest. If the child decides to cry or whine, I don't care. I have a child, so I have the selective hearing that comes with raising one. If another person's child is crying, my first, happy thought is "Hey, that's not my problem," and then I order another drink.
If the child insists on interacting with me, and its parent doesn't forbid it out of fear I am planning on kidnapping the youngster, I quickly teach the baby how the seat pocket in front of it is filled with generations of filth, including intriguing gum chunks flung down there by people who were too lazy to press their used Chiclets on the bottom of their seats and crushed bits of ancient hard candy whose mouth-feel must be sampled. After a few minutes of this, the parent calls the flight attendant and requests to be seated elsewhere, and I have everybody's favorite flying companion next to me again.
An empty seat.
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