Picture this: you just passed through the stressful airport security where they were just b****ing about not getting paid (rightfully so) and some guy was inches away from catching a lawsuit for sexually assaulting you. You get on the plane and bump through strangers and make it to your window seat, prime real estate. You fumble around for the seat belt, lock in, throw in your AirPods (because you’re balling like that), and mentally prepare for the flight, blissfully smiling because you are oh so close to your destination. The plane takes off and all is good in the world. Well, unless you hate flying then that’s a “you” problem. Then the unthinkable happens. 

The guy in front of you decides that right now is the perfect time to take the seat and literally throw it in your lap like you just paid for a lap dance. Now picture this: you’re 6’1 265 pounds and you barely fit in the seat in the first place and your knees are already kissing the flight magazine in the back of the seat. Yup that’s right, large human. However, the Devil himself in front of you doesn’t give a single f**k. Not one.

As you can imagine now, I am steaming with rage. Why me, God why? I’ve been good and haven’t sinned in at least 72 hours dear Lord why me of all people. Just do it to someone like Angela from “The Office” she would never notice. Oh, but I notice. 

My problem is that I can be a doormat by being too nice sometimes. I know, I should have stuck up for myself whatever, whatever. I didn’t, and yes, I suffered for seven hours. 

The saddest part of the experience was that I actually thought I would make it the whole flight being comfortable, silly me. I should have known this would happen because literally every f***ing flight I’m on this happens to me. Which brings me to the most elusive question of 2019 (yes even more elusive than how in the hell did 21 Savage not get caught sooner): why does the guy in front of me on airplanes f***ing hate me?