Flying is rarely comfortable when you’re tall, but this particular trip felt like a test of endurance. As soon as we hit cruising altitude, the guy in seat 12B flung his seat backward with the force of a rocket launch—slamming right into my already-cramped knees. When I asked, as politely as possible, if he could ease up a bit, he shot back with, “Next time, go first class, kid.”
Usually, I’d just grit my teeth and endure it, but something about his smug attitude lit a fire in me. Then I remembered the powdered donuts stashed in my backpack. What started as a snack quickly turned into a passive-aggressive masterpiece. With every careful bite, a gentle cloud of powdered sugar floated down onto the top of his head, settling like a soft, sugary snowfall.
Eventually, he shot forward in frustration, finally giving my legs the room they desperately needed. Across the aisle, my mom gave me a look that managed to say both “You’re in trouble” and “Well played.” As we exited the plane, Mr. Recliner glared at me with fury. I just smiled, took another bite of donut, and—purely by accident, of course—let a few last crumbs fall near his bag. Some victories really do taste sweet.
