At just 16 and already over six feet tall, flying has never been easy for me. My knees barely fit behind economy class seats, and I always brace myself for discomfort. On a return trip with my mom, I was seated behind a businessman who didn’t just recline — he practically collapsed his seat into my lap. When I politely asked him to adjust it, he smugly refused, claiming, “I paid for this seat.” Even the flight attendant couldn’t reason with him. My knees were crushed, my patience was thin, and I knew I needed to do something.

That’s when inspiration struck — in the form of a family-sized bag of pretzels from my mom’s carry-on. I started eating them noisily, chewing with my mouth open and letting crumbs fly all over, especially toward his head. At first, he ignored it. But as pretzel flakes landed on his shoulders and scalp, his frustration built. When he snapped at me, I played it innocent, reminding him that I had paid for my seat too. I even faked a sneeze for good measure, sending a fresh sprinkle of crumbs onto him.

Finally, he broke. Without saying a word, he angrily hit the button to raise his seat, freeing my legs and restoring my comfort. The flight attendant walked by, offering me a discreet thumbs-up. My mom leaned over, half amused, half impressed, whispering, “That was clever. Maybe a little mean… but clever.” I shrugged and smiled, my legs finally stretched out in peace for the rest of the flight.

As we exited the plane, the man glanced back at me but said nothing — just shook his head and walked away. I felt victorious. Sure, it wasn’t the most mature way to handle the situation, but it worked. As we walked toward baggage claim, my mom joked, “Maybe next time we fly first class.” I laughed. “Only if they serve pretzels.”