If I Click My HeelsTogether Will I Get Back To Virginia?

It is always an experience to fly these days. Thirty, even twenty years ago, it was almost fun to fly. The food was pretty good, at least you got a choice of meals. At least there WERE meals. I didn't pay an arm and a leg for a ticket and those same arms and legs, as well as the rest of me, didn't have to be x-rayed and scanned. Not that I object to the added security in light of how dangerous our country seems to have become. Still, sometimes I miss the good ol' days when someone could meet me at my gate and I could take a large shampoo bottle in a carry on bag.

Boarding the plane in Wichita, I was already a little bit tense knowing I had only a forty-five minute layover in Atlanta and there was surely a tram in my future, but I got a bad feeling looking ahead to row 19 and seeing someone in my seat. Slowly, creeping with baby steps behind the passengers ahead of me, I spied a tiny, ancient woman in the window seat.

"Excuse me, Mam, I think you are in my seat."

"NO I AM NOT!!!!"

Uh oh.

"Mam, according to my boarding pass, I have that seat."

"NO YOU DON'T. THIS IS MY SEAT. I AM NOT MOVING."

I looked at the flight attendant who actually seemed sympathetic. She took over and told the little woman that, yes, it was true, she was sitting in my assigned seat.

"I AM NOT MOVING FROM THIS SEAT. NOT EVEN IF YOU ARE JACKIE KENNEDY!"

Passengers giggled and I looked at Miss Flight Attendant who was busy calling security but then had a better idea. She said. "OK then, since you won't move, I will take this lady (meaning me) to your assigned seat on the 6th row."

We didn't need Jackie Kennedy after all.

I never saw the little woman again. I happily deplaned several minutes ahead of her. Karma is sometimes a very good thing.