I was 4 months pregnant on a long-haul flight, crammed into an aisle seat I’d booked weeks in advance near the front for easier bathroom access. The second we were in the air, the man in front of me slammed his seat back so hard it almost hit my small bump.
I tapped him and explained, ‘I’m pregnant, could you move it up just a little?’ Without even looking at me, he muttered, ‘Buy first class next time.’
So for the next two hours, every time I needed to shift or stand up (which was often), I used his seat as leverage — pushing it hard enough that he’d jolt awake. He snapped at me once, ‘Stop touching my seat!’ I smiled and said sweetly, ‘Sorry, pregnancy makes me move a lot.’
For the remaining free hours, he kept turning his head around, glaring at me with an angry face, as if trying to burn holes through me, while I calmly sipped my water in the aisle seat.
