So here’s what I did. I’m curious to know if you think I was right.
I slowly took three pieces of gum from my bag and began chewing them, one after another. Calmly. Casually. No rush. Then, with an utterly neutral expression, I started working them into her hair. Quietly. One strand at a time.
About fifteen minutes passed before she seemed to sense something was off. She reached back, touched her hair—and froze.
“What… is… this?” she cried out, fingers clawing through the sticky mess.
Without taking my eyes off the in-flight movie, I said evenly, “That’s the result of your lack of courtesy.”
“You’re crazy!”
“And you’re disrespectful,” I replied. “Now you have two options. One: you sit like that until we land and prepare to shave off half your hair. Or two: I can help you cut it out right now. I have manicure scissors in my bag. What’ll it be?”
Her face turned pale. I leaned in slightly, kept my tone low, and added,
“If your hair crosses this seat again, next time you’re leaving bald. I’m very precise—even during turbulence.”
She sat frozen for the rest of the flight. Her hair twisted up into the neatest, tightest bun imaginable. And finally, I got what I came for—my peace. I turned back to my movie, leaned back, and enjoyed every second of the quiet I had rightfully earned.
