After weeks of nonstop work, I finally boarded my flight—ready to disconnect from the world. All I wanted was to watch a movie, relax, and enjoy a few quiet hours above the clouds. But apparently, peace wasn’t part of my in-flight entertainment.
A young woman, maybe in her early twenties, sat in the seat ahead of me. As soon as she settled in, she flipped her long, thick hair right over the back of her seat—straight onto my tray table, completely blocking my screen.
I took a deep breath and leaned forward.
“Excuse me,” I said politely. “Would you mind moving your hair?”
She turned around briefly, mumbled a quick apology, and pulled it back. Problem solved—or so I thought.
Ten minutes later, there it was again. The same waterfall of hair, spilling over my seat like I didn’t exist.
I asked her again—still polite, still calm. This time, she didn’t even respond. She just ignored me, eyes glued to her phone.
That’s when I decided: this flight princess needed a gentle reminder in basic courtesy.
I pulled out three sticks of gum, started chewing—slowly, deliberately. Once they were nice and sticky, I began pressing tiny bits into the strands of hair dangling in front of me. One at a time. Quietly. Methodically.
Fifteen minutes later, she reached back, touched her hair, and froze.
“What the—what is this?!” she shouted, twisting around in horror.
I didn’t even look up from my movie. “That,” I said evenly, “is what happens when you invade someone else’s space.”
“You’re insane!” she hissed.
“And you’re disrespectful,” I replied calmly. “Now, you have two choices: spend the rest of the flight like that and prepare to shave it off later—or I can help you cut it out right now. I’ve got manicure scissors in my bag.”
Her face turned white. She sat perfectly still for the rest of the flight, her hair tied into the tightest bun I’ve ever seen.
Finally, silence.
Finally, peace.
And for the first time that day, I leaned back, hit play, and enjoyed my movie—screen unobstructed, lesson delivered.
