I haven't been on a Southwest Airlines flight in a long time. After an almost sleepless night, it's really early in the morning and I'm kind of cranky. For starters, as you may know Southwest does not have assigned seating. You are given a number when you check in which determines when they let you on the plane to begin your quest for the best seat. I line up in the terminal with all the others, wondering what I will encounter once I reach the plane. I checked in as early as I could, but somehow ended up with number B31. Could be worse, but there sure were a lot of folks that boarded before me who had the much desired 'A' classification. In this day and age of add on charges for anything and everything on a flight, it hasn't even crossed my old fashioned mind to pay extra for something that could possibly make my plight less difficult.
Standing in the short line that queues up before getting on the plane, I sneak a quick glance out the window of the jetway--well, at least the plane isn't a little puddle jumper...what I jokingly used to call a "pencil with wings". I have nightmares from back in the day from flying on a little commuter 16 seater, 8 single seats on each side with an aisle in the middle. Not fun for someone of my stature. As usual, I have to duck to walk on to the plane. I turn the corner after boarding and look down the center aisle for the first time--various people of different shapes and sizes already sitting, and the scattered empty seats--target acquisitions--all become apparent. The plane at this point is probably half full, with more people up near the front than at the back. The people stare up, way up at me, and I look back and past them, searching, while hoping for the possibility of a comfy seat for the next 3 hours or so. My needs are somewhat unique, and the evaluation process begins. I move gingerly down the aisle, head tilted a little to one side because I can't quite stand up fully. I'm painfully aware that people are looking up at me and thinking "His head is nearly touching the ceiling!" "He has to duck!" Empty aisle seat near the front...nope, dad and a little kid in the other two seats. Another potential aisle seat a little further down on the other side, no thanks, the person sitting in the middle is bulging over into the aisle seat. As I size up the people already seated, I realize they are all sizing me up too.... tall guy approaching/he's all legs/how will he fit in a seat? Do I want him sitting next to me? How will I crawl over all of him if I have to go to the bathroom? Will he talk all the way to Denver if he sits next to me?
A little further down I reach the exit row. Cue the angelic music and the chorus of voices. The exalted holy grail of airplane seats for people like me. Just think of it--the possibility of being on an airplane and having virtually unlimited legroom for the entire flight! The mere thought makes me salivate. Of course the exit row also comes with awesome responsibility--that of opening the door and helping people out if something bad happens...I'm OK with that... I'm immediately snapped out of my dream by the diminutive people that have already occupied the exit row...all sitting luxuriously with their legs crossed as if to mock me. I spy an aisle seat directly behind the exit row at the same time I notice that one side of the exit row does have a middle seat unoccupied. Now it becomes a tug of war in my mind. At least I have choices, if not ideal in either case. I decide to experiment and sit first in the aisle seat and see if my knees are banging into the seat in front of me. There is no one in the middle next to me as of now, and maybe I could move over to the exit row at a later time. It will be a gamble to see if someone still in the boarding process selects the seat next to me. I also recall from somewhere in my early morning haze that the the exit row seat in front of me likely doesn't recline. At the least, no top of the head of a snoring stranger reclining directly into my face. As I gaze semi-longingly over at the exit rows, I immediately make myself as big as possible in my seat. I put a nasty, mean look on my face (except for the guy with the cute little dog coming down the aisle who walks right by anyway). Would anyone want to sit by the grumpy looking tall guy whose legs are spreading out from his seat in all directions except the ones they are supposed to go in? What will those guys over in the exit row think if I all of a sudden move over there??
Equation for Flight comfort: Return Flight = exit row = Happy Camper
Soon it's decision time--the choice of sitting with legroom but people albeit unknowingly infringing on your space on either side, or sitting on an aisle, hopefully with the freedom to move my gangly legs toward the unoccupied middle seat leg room. What to do? This is but one example of the choices faced in the life of a vertically enhanced, rather fed up Dad.
Post Mortem: I paid the extra fee on the return flight to board early enough to get an exit row seat, and it was the best 40 bucks I ever spent!
Please watch for my next entry, entitled "Under Control", coming next Friday to a website near you!