Up in the Air

"You cannot be serious, girl. Are you actually serious right now?" I was clutching the ticket in my freshly-manicured fingers, staring at the flight attendant with a blank expression while I waited for the punchline of her joke. My expensive, designer luggage was tilted up onto its wheels as I waited for her to step aside. She was being so damn rude, blocking the aisle and acting like I had no good reason to be heading in that direction. I glanced around the cabin at everyone in their seats, expecting that this was some kind of prank being pulled on me. "Where's the hidden cameras?"

The young woman was beautiful and statuesque, with large, green eyes that were spread across her heart-shaped face. She appeared professional in her neatly-pressed uniform; her make-up expertly applied, while her hair was wrapped-up neatly in a bun. She came across as Eastern European, and in her high-heeled pumps, she stood at least half a foot taller than me, yet her demeanour seemed nothing but kind and approachable. Rather than being emotive at my response, she simply smiled back through her crimson lipstick, almost patiently; her long fingers pressed together at her breast in a prayer-like position. "Did they not make you aware of this during check-in, Ma'am?"

"No," I said, while beginning to lose my own patience. I adjusted my standing position, swallowing uncomfortably while feeling somewhat flustered as the collective eyes of the cabin began to descend upon me. I licked my lips, and tried to straighten my back. I looked around for reassurance from the other passengers; obviously everyone knew I was suffering a grave injustice. "They certainly did not."

"Well, I apologise for the inconvenience, Ma'am, but I'm afraid that business class is overbooked." She continued to block the aisle, before gesturing over my shoulder to the cabin I was currently standing at the entrance of. "Would you like me to show you to your alternative seat?" she asked, warmness exuding from her.

"That's not my problem and no, I don't want an alternative seat." I took a step to the left and made a move towards the seat number that was clearly listed on my ticket. There it was written, clear as day: Ms. Cynthia Brown, with a seat in bloody business class! I pointed at it with determination, and the flight attendant crouched to have another look, before smiling at me once more.

"As I said, Ma'am, that seat is already taken. I apologise for the—"

"I don't care if someone is sat in it," I said, while peering towards my usual seat. I narrowed my eyes upon noticing the back of some woman's head who was already there. "I already know where my actual seat is, thank you." I'd booked the seat months ago, and even paid extra online so that I could pick the specific one I preferred: a singular business seat, next to the window with extra legroom and full complimentary board. I nodded towards the occupied seat with impatience. "You'll have to move whoever is already sat in it, because I certainly will not be sitting elsewhere. I've been flying with your company for years, and I certainly expect better service than this."

Before I could make my way down the aisle, while dragging my luggage behind me, the flight attendant, Marketa, as her nametag so elegantly communicated, stood firm and continued to block the way. Despite being younger, and slimmer, she was most certainly taller, and with her spread, wire-like arms, she left no room to veer around. I was taken aback by how stubborn she was being. I mean, didn't she get the memo? I was an ever-present in business class, and that most definitely wasn't going to be changing today. I scowled at her in frustration, however, she placed a hand on the headrests either side of her as if to cement herself as an obstacle to my comfort. "I'm afraid that will not be possible, Ma'am. That seat has already been allocated."

"To me," I said, aghast that she wasn't getting it. I turned anxiously for a second and noted the growing impatience of the cabin. "It was allocated to me." When she remained unmoved, I let out a deep sigh of frustration, really feeling like I didn't have the time to be wasting on this sort of thing. There were a couple of people already groaning in their seats, close by, and I bit my lip and shook my head in disbelief; they all awkwardly looked away in response, clearly knowing that I was in the right. There was a long flight ahead, and I just wanted to get comfortable and asleep as fast as possible. Usually after a few glasses of complimentary wine, I'd stretch out and swiftly drift off. It was a routine that I was accustomed to by this stage, and as I was heading to another important meeting, I needed as much sleep as possible. Sydney had been particularly hectic whenever I'd previously visited, and that wasn't even considering the jetlag that was going to wreak havoc on my energy. I mean, my company had covered the cost of the ticket, as they always did, but I'd paid extra to choose the seat. Besides, that wasn't the point, was it? I almost grit my teeth in a silent seethe, trying as much as I could to stem my anger. I looked her up and down, before putting on my most trusted, vapid smile. "Is there someone else I could speak to about this?" I glanced around in search of an employee with more seniority. This Marketa was beautiful and all, but she far too young to b the one in charge. "Someone who has the correct authority to move her."

"I am the lead flight attendant," Marketa announced, almost proudly. "I have made the airline's position clear. I apologise for the inconvenience, but the possibility of this occurrence was outlined in the terms and conditions when you booked your ticket. I assure you, Ma'am, you will be taken care of on this flight, but could you first move to your seat please, and then we can get you all settled in."

I let out a deep huff, before waving my hand around. "Then could I speak to the captain?"

This time, Marketa cocked her head, before biting her lip. Her eyelashes fluttered as if she was becoming annoyed at my insistence. Still, her expression was muted, almost to the point of there being nothing going on inside her head. "As I've already informed you, I'm afraid that's not possible, Ma'am. The captain does not get involved with seating arrangements." A smarmy smile suddenly appeared. "His responsibility is flying the plane."

With that, I let out a tut. "Don't get sarcastic with me," I said. "There's no need for that."

Marketa smiled again, this time showing me a full set of white teeth. "Ma'am, as I just said, the business class section is overbooked. Your seat is no longer available." She lifted one hand from a headrest, and outstretched it towards the economy cabin behind me. "If you would allow me to show you to your row, you will be seated in no time."

I blinked, and it took me a moment to process what was actually happening. She was essentially expecting me to sit in economy? I snorted in disbelief. "I'm not going in there," I said while holding my ticket out again. "I paid for my seat months ago. I travel with you multiple times a month, and I sit in business every time. I sit in the same damn seat, every time! Is this how you treat your loyal customers?" I rolled my eyes, and looked around the economy cabin, almost grimacing at all of the unruly children and sweaty, overweight individuals I'd already easily spied. "You'll have to figure something out"—I pointed between myself and the economy cabin a couple of times—"because this right here, darling, this atrocity you're suggesting is simply never going to happen." I almost shivered in disgust at the thought of flying coach. God, could there be a worse insult in life?

Marketa was about to say something, before taking a breath and composing herself. She bobbed her head, the little airline hat almost toppling off, before she smiled and said, "Ma'am, would you please just follow me to your seat." She was wearing a smart uniform with a long, pencil skirt and nylon hosiery that crept up from her pumps. Everything was so prim and proper, ironed and clean, yet, her attitude belonged in the gutter! Why the hell wasn't she assisting me and just doing what I wanted? She smiled at me again in an almost patronising manner while directing with a hand back towards economy. "Ma'am, as lead flight attendant, I assure you that you'll receive a full refund, as well as a complimentary voucher for a discount on future travel." She then gestured towards an empty row of four seats near the front of the economy cabin. "I've also ensured that you have an entire row to yourself so that your comfort will be increased, and you will receive the premium meal and complimentary drinks service as would be expected of a business class customer."

I brushed off all of the benefits she had listed, and instead focused on the meat of my gripe. "How is my comfort increased if I have to sit down"—I pointed aggressively down the aisle with a grimace and raised my voice—"

there?

My days of cattle class are most certainly over." I leant up onto my tip-toes and tried to peer over her shoulder. "You can move whoever is in my seat to that row if you think it's so comfortable." I then looked Marketa up and down; my eyes lingering on her high heels at the base of her gangly legs. "Look at your long legs. How would you like it? If you've paid for extra room and get shunted into a box like some battery chicken!"

"Ma'am, I can assure you, I will be on my feet for the entire flight." She kept her composure, her expression absolutely muted and void of all emotion. "An alternative arrangement is that you may leave the flight, Ma'am. We'll be happy to seat you in business class on the next available flight. I can have security here to escort you off the plane within a few minutes."

I blinked. "Umm, when is the next flight?" I bit my lip, and reasoned if I had to wait half hour or so, at least it would be worth it to avoid economy for the next ten hours.

"I believe there is an alternative flight tomorrow morning, Ma'am."

I was silent for a moment, my mouth hanging open while I waited for her to laugh and reveal this was all a joke. "Are you serious?" I finally asked aghast. "I need to get to my meeting. I can't hang around the airport until tomorrow."

"Neither can anyone else," I heard a guy's voice shout from the economy crowd. "God damnit, lady, you're making us all late."

"Would you mind your own business?" I shouted back, not even entirely sure where the guy was sitting. "The adults are having a discussion and we don't need any interruptions." I then scowled back towards Marketa; eyeballing her and almost willing her rigid posture to relent. She may have been taller, but I was far above in her the pecking order, that was for damn sure. I had years of experience in my career, and plenty flying business class in the process. It was part of my way of life by this point, and I wasn't about to change that for some uppity flight attendant on a power trip. "I want you to move whoever is in my seat. I paid for it first, and I will not be downgraded into economy class with this lot back here." I gestured my thumb over my shoulder, before putting my luggage in front of me. As a final display of my fury, I slammed down the adjustable handle. "Now, do your job and assist me! You're a bloody flight attendant, for God's sake, so attend to my needs, or else I'll have your job!"

"Would you just sit down already?" I heard a young, female voice shout towards me from the row behind the one I'd been offered. "That deal is more than fair and you're making the rest of us late! She gave you a whole row to yourself, so just sit your ass down, you selfish cow."

I turned and gritted my teeth. "Mind your own damn business," I seethed, as I almost snarled while looking around the economy cabin. "None of you have a damn clue what you're getting involved in." My eyes danced between all of their sweaty faces. "As if any of you have ever been in business before. Trust me, none of you would want to sit back here either if you knew any different."

"God, get a load of her," said a teenage boy. "If only we knew we were flying with the Queen of England today."

"Is she serious?" asked a similarly aged girl next to him. "Like, is this actually happening right now?"

One guy, crammed in next to a window, even quipped, "She can trade with me? I'll take the row to myself if she doesn't want it."

"I'll take her complimentary drinks!" the same girl immediately behind the empty row I'd been offered joked. She popped her head out into the aisle with her brown hair framing her long face; dark eyeliner ringing her eyes. When we made eye contact, she poked out her tongue; a dazzling jewel at its centre. I rolled my eyes in disgust at such a trashy trinket. I looked her up and down, causing me to grimace upon seeing her jean shorts and cheap flip-flops, looking like they were about to fall apart beneath her grubby feet.

This

, I thought to myself,

this right here is exactly what I don't want to sit amongst.

A blonde girl next to her began laughing loudly. "Yeah, and I'll take the meal!"

"Would you all just shut up and mind your business," I yelled, my hands balled into fists at my side. I almost felt like I had steam bursting from my ears, completely infuriated that they all thought they had the right to butt in. I mean, who the hell were these trashy girls, thinking they could talk to me like that?

"You're making a drama where there doesn't need to be," a middle-aged woman said. "Just sit down and mind your tongue."

"I will not," I raged. I turned back towards Marketa. "Listen to them. Look what you've riled up against me. I will not sit amongst this rabble when I've paid for a seat in business class."

"Did she just call us rabble?" All the amusement disappeared from the girl with the tongue piercing's face. "Who the hell does she think she is?"

"She thinks she's the queen or somethink," an older guy said. "In my day you couldn't even travel on planes, so she should be a bit more grateful."

"Oh, stick your nose somewhere else, grandpa," I fumed. I pointed down the aisle. "Take me to business, right now, or I am going to speak to your manager and have you fired."

The blonde-haired girl behind the row of seats I'd been offered had taken out her phone by this point and was recording me. "Look," she said in a raised voice, her distinctively Australian accent becoming evident. "We're known for our nature in the outback, and get a load of this, it's a Karen in the wild."

The whole cabin suddenly erupted into laughter, and for the first time, I felt precariously vulnerable and exposed. Why the hell had this stupid girl, Marketa, put me in this situation? "I'm not a Karen," I said, while glancing around the many rows of seats, each of which had countless pairs of eyes gawping at me.

The brown-haired girl next to the one recording, suddenly sat up so she was looking over the seat. "Would you just sit down and shut up already?" she said with a raised hand. "You're like, grating us all, you know that, right? Do you think you're too good for coach or something?"

That question hung in the air while my lips trembled; on the verge of being honest and spluttering the truth. Hell yes, I was too good for economy. However, as I glanced around everyone staring at me, I realised the hostility was growing. It was like some mob that had all united against me; the exact sort of people I tried to avoid on a daily basis. I knew what these sorts were like, often resorting to violence, and I suddenly felt like I was helpless. "Ugh, no," I said, while feeling my face redden up as I blushed. "Of course not." I awkwardly cleared my throat, while trying to grab my luggage, only clumsily knocking it over in the process.

Marketa stepped passed me to grab my luggage. "Ma'am," she said in a soft tone, while placing a hand on my shoulder. "I think at this point it may be better if we put you on another flight."

"Don't touch me." I wriggled free, and wrestled my luggage from her, before struggling to lift and slot it into the overheard compartment.

She watched my attempts, almost bemused, before commenting, "Do you need some assistance with that, Ma'am?"

"No," I said. "I can do it my-bloody-self."

I heard a groan from the same girls behind my row. "God, just let her do it for you," one of them said.

"She's taking forever," added the other. "Ruins the flight for everyone else and only thinks about herself. What a total bitch."

I turned, aghast, at being called such a thing, my cheeks instantly taking on a blushed tinge. It was just so uncalled for and something I wasn't at all expecting; a slut way below the belt. I frequently travelled and never encountered such hostility and insults. The flight attendant should have been going out of her way to mediate my grievances, but instead, she'd roused up the horde and I was getting it from all sides. I stared at Marketa in desperation, waiting for her to do something...anything to rectify the situation, but she merely looked straight back at me as if I was the one causing the inconvenience. Why? None of this was

my

fault, for God's sake!

The longer I waited for her to act, my hands holding the luggage aloft, the more frustrated I grew. Finally, I shook my head, completely at a loss with the situation. "This is the last time I will ever travel with your airline," I said, this time in a rather angry tone, while trying to push my luggage into the narrow space on offer. I had to rise up onto my tip-toes and with a final shove, I accidentally tore the handle off in the process, "God," I said. "Look what you've made me do now."

Marketa stared back at me without any indication of sympathy. "Ma'am," she said, while dipping her head and squinting her eyes. "I offered to assist you with that."

I swallowed nervously, before looking around and noticing that most people were trying not to laugh. "I just—"

However, I was startled as the blonde girl recording me burst out laughing. "I caught the whole thing. Instant karma, right there. This is going on Tik Tok."

I turned and scowled at her, however, when she simply leered back at me, almost smug in the way she was taunting me, I realised that any further reaction was going to make that recording even worse. "Stop recording me." I covered my face with a hand, and sheepishly worked my way to the empty second row, shifting along to sit next to the window, before hunkering down out of view. I still wasn't happy that I had to sit in economy, but I just wanted to be out of the spotlight since everyone was acting as if I were a new exotic animal in a zoo or something. A round of applause spread throughout the cabin, and I felt my cheeks turning purple as I shrivelled in my seat.

I could hear the blonde behind frantically tapping her thumbs against her phone screen. "I'm uploading it right now," she said to her friend, and the pair of them began cackling like witches around a cauldron.

"Wait, she might do something else though."

I turned to scowl at them, but when they both looked back with smirks, I simply rolled my eyes at their childishness, and was about to stretch my legs out across the row, when Marketa crouched down in the aisle, and said softly, "Now, please would you fasten your seat belt, Ma'am."

"For God's sake," I screeched, before sitting upright and snapping the seat belt across me. "This is the worst flight ever."

"Not yet, it isn't, Karen," the young brunette said in the seat behind me. She gave my seat a firm shove, and I jolted forward in the process, almost hitting my head on the table-tray in front. I noted a man looking at me from between the gap in the seats; though when we made eye contact, he rolled his eyes and looked away, once again, as if I was the one completely out of line. I mean, didn't these people understand the unjustified treatment I'd fallen victim to? Turning up and expecting a nice smooth flight in business class, only to be relegated to economy? I had ten hours of hell ahead of me, and no one was showing me an ounce of sympathy. If anything, they were making the ordeal even worse!