Flying home with my husband, Jake, we dealt with a rude passenger who kept her feet on his seat, ignoring our pleas to stop. I unleashed my inner prankster with a move that kept her in check and still cracks me up. After a week with Jake’s parents, we boarded our flight, craving home. “I miss our bed,” I said, settling in. Jake nodded. “Our shower’s the best.” The plane’s hum promised a restful trip, but trouble started fast. The woman behind us had her bare feet on Jake’s seat, kicking it as she yapped with her friend, oblivious to her rudeness.
I looked at Jake, expecting him to act. He’s calm, but this was too much. “Hey, could you move your feet?” he asked, turning around. She smirked, whispered to her friend, and laughed, keeping her feet there. During the safety demo, she sat still, but soon her feet were back, bumping Jake’s seat. “Please, it’s annoying,” he said, sterner. She ignored him, rolling her eyes. Jake tensed, and I knew we were in for a long flight. “Get a flight attendant,” I said, holding back my urge to get petty—Jake knows I can go there.
He came back with a no-nonsense flight attendant who told the woman to stop. She complied briefly, but as soon as the attendant left, her feet returned. I’d had it. When the drink cart arrived, I saw my shot. “Beer for me,” Jake said. “Water, please,” I said, twisting the cap with a sly smile. “What’s up?” Jake asked. “Trust me,” I winked. I tilted my water bottle, soaking her bag under Jake’s seat. She didn’t notice. Then I took Jake’s beer. “Here we go,” he grinned. I poured it onto her feet. “Gross!” she screamed, pulling them back, almost smacking her friend.
“You spilled that!” she snapped at me. I turned, wide-eyed. “Oh, my bad! Must’ve been turbulence.” She huffed, complaining to her friend about my “trashy” move. “She dumped beer on me!” she whined. Her friend said, “She should’ve asked politely.” I overheard them gripe about deserving comfort since they paid for the flight. When the food cart passed, she shifted, nudging Jake’s seat. “Sorry!” she said fast. “I don’t want food on me.” Jake chuckled, grabbing my hand. Her feet stayed off his seat for good. She shot me dirty looks, but I smiled innocently.
As we landed, she grabbed her soggy bag, glaring. I gave her a small smirk. “Shower time,” Jake said. “Then bed,” I agreed, content. She rushed off the plane, muttering. We lingered, walking arm-in-arm through the terminal. “That was peak you,” Jake laughed. “Sometimes you gotta play dirty to teach respect,” I said. That tiny revenge felt so good, proving a little sass can go a long way in setting things right.
