If you are looking for something to get me for Christmas, how about the Knee Defender?
It is a device that you can use on an airplane to prevent the person in front of you from using their seat like a La-Z-Boy. It slips down the arm of the tray table, rendering the recline option inoperable.
This is something I could have used when I flew out to Maryland last week. Sarah and Bailey had left the previous week to spend some time with my in-laws before Thanksgiving and I flew out last Wednesday night to join them. We took Southwest for some reason. You know... the airline that somehow saves millions of dollars a year by not assigning seat numbers... if you understand how that works, let me know.
Because I'm 6'7", I always try to get a bulkhead seat or an exit row, if at all possible, because there is about 50% more leg room in those seats than in any other. On normal airplane seats, the distance between my hip bone and my knee bone is about two inches longer than the distance from the back of my seat to the seat in front of me. If I can't get an exit row, I have to get an aisle, because then I can usually position on knee one the ouside of the seat.
Well this particular night, there were a handful of various 5' twerps and little teenage girls hanging out in the exit row, so I went for the nearest aisle and folded myself into the seat. As soon as the wheels of the plane left the pavement, the punk in front of me (in his thirties, sunglasses pushed up on his Abercrombie and Fitch cap, the kind of guy you just want to throttle when you see him) slams his seat back into my knees. Of course his seat doesn't recline hardly at all because there is absolutely no room between my patella and the plastic tray table. So he starts to repeatedly slam his body back into the seat to get it to go back, each time pounding my knees right on the funny bone part. I instinctively jerked my legs out of the way, one in the aisle, one over on the seat to my right and he lays right back with his headrest virtually in my lap.
I lean forward into his ear and say, "Is this your first time to fly?"
No answer. His eyes are shut. He's ignoring me.
"Because it is polite and customary to look behind you or to ask before you treat your seAT LIKE A %&$*@#$ ROCKER RECLINER!!!!"
Still no answer. hhrhrhrhhrhrhrrrrrrrr.
"Well you stay right here and be comfortable. I'll move, your highness." I had to bounce his seat up out of the way to get my stuff and I didn't have to lean hard on his seat back to stand up, but I did. And I moved to a different seat.
I hate flying in the first place, and when people act like animals from the time they get to the airport until the time they get in their car, it makes it all the more an activity with which I want nothing to do.
It is a device that you can use on an airplane to prevent the person in front of you from using their seat like a La-Z-Boy. It slips down the arm of the tray table, rendering the recline option inoperable.
This is something I could have used when I flew out to Maryland last week. Sarah and Bailey had left the previous week to spend some time with my in-laws before Thanksgiving and I flew out last Wednesday night to join them. We took Southwest for some reason. You know... the airline that somehow saves millions of dollars a year by not assigning seat numbers... if you understand how that works, let me know.
Because I'm 6'7", I always try to get a bulkhead seat or an exit row, if at all possible, because there is about 50% more leg room in those seats than in any other. On normal airplane seats, the distance between my hip bone and my knee bone is about two inches longer than the distance from the back of my seat to the seat in front of me. If I can't get an exit row, I have to get an aisle, because then I can usually position on knee one the ouside of the seat.
Well this particular night, there were a handful of various 5' twerps and little teenage girls hanging out in the exit row, so I went for the nearest aisle and folded myself into the seat. As soon as the wheels of the plane left the pavement, the punk in front of me (in his thirties, sunglasses pushed up on his Abercrombie and Fitch cap, the kind of guy you just want to throttle when you see him) slams his seat back into my knees. Of course his seat doesn't recline hardly at all because there is absolutely no room between my patella and the plastic tray table. So he starts to repeatedly slam his body back into the seat to get it to go back, each time pounding my knees right on the funny bone part. I instinctively jerked my legs out of the way, one in the aisle, one over on the seat to my right and he lays right back with his headrest virtually in my lap.
I lean forward into his ear and say, "Is this your first time to fly?"
No answer. His eyes are shut. He's ignoring me.
"Because it is polite and customary to look behind you or to ask before you treat your seAT LIKE A %&$*@#$ ROCKER RECLINER!!!!"
Still no answer. hhrhrhrhhrhrhrrrrrrrr.
"Well you stay right here and be comfortable. I'll move, your highness." I had to bounce his seat up out of the way to get my stuff and I didn't have to lean hard on his seat back to stand up, but I did. And I moved to a different seat.
I hate flying in the first place, and when people act like animals from the time they get to the airport until the time they get in their car, it makes it all the more an activity with which I want nothing to do.
posted by Sarah G. at
11:30 AM
