One woman thought her flight would be just another routine trip, but an unexpected act of audacity from the passenger seated beside her led to an unforeseen twist. The journey ended in a way neither of them had anticipated.
It was just another work trip for me, boarding a flight from New York to Los Angeles. As a 35-year-old marketing consultant, I travel frequently, so airports and flights have become second nature. This time, I was headed to a major conference in LA, with a tight connection to San Diego for a pre-conference meeting. Everything was meticulously planned—I couldn’t afford any delays.
I had even chosen an aisle seat for a quick exit. As I approached my row, I noticed the man in the window seat was already settled in. He was in his early 40s, exuding an air of self-importance. Dressed in a neatly pressed button-down shirt, nice slacks, and polished shoes, he kept glancing at his expensive watch, barely acknowledging me as I sat down.
No big deal, I thought. I just wanted a peaceful flight, maybe review my notes for the meeting in San Diego, and perhaps catch a short nap before landing. But little did I know, this man was about to turn my straightforward trip into a mini-nightmare.
About halfway through the flight, the attendants began serving dinner. I hadn’t had a chance to eat all day, so by the time the meal service started, I was starving. The smell of food made my stomach growl, and I was eager to eat, go over my notes, and get some rest.
But nature called. I glanced at the aisle, noting the food cart was still a few rows away. Figuring I had just enough time, I excused myself and headed to the restroom, careful not to disturb Mr. Important too much.
When I reached the back of the plane, I discovered there was a line. Just what I needed! I checked my watch anxiously as the minutes ticked by. By the time it was finally my turn, I was practically tapping my foot in impatience, worried about missing the meal service.
When I returned to my seat, I was greeted by an unbelievable sight: my meal tray was gone, and the man beside me was happily digging into his second meal.
“Uh, did they bring my meal while I was gone?” I asked, though the answer was obvious.
He looked up from his tray, a smug smile on his face. “Oh, yeah. You were taking a while, so I figured you didn’t want it. Didn’t want it to go to waste.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “You ate my meal?”
“Yeah,” he said, still chewing. “I was still hungry after mine, and you weren’t here. You can grab something at the airport when we land.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d heard of entitled people, but this was on a whole new level. Who does that?
“Are you serious right now?” I asked, more to myself than to him, hoping it was some kind of joke.
He just shrugged, completely unfazed. “Relax, it’s just airplane food.”
Feeling a mix of anger and disbelief, I hit the call button and asked the flight attendant if there were any meals left. She gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, but we’ve run out of meals. Would you like some pretzels instead?”
Pretzels? That wasn’t going to cut it, but what choice did I have? I accepted the tiny bag of pretzels, feeling defeated and increasingly annoyed at my seatmate’s audacity.
Meanwhile, Mr. Important polished off both meals, leaned back, and promptly fell asleep, looking as satisfied as a cat who’d just caught a mouse.
I tried to focus on my work, nibbling on the pretzels and glaring at the man now softly snoring beside me. My stomach growled in protest, but I forced myself to concentrate on my notes. I had a tight connection to worry about and couldn’t let this jerk ruin my day. I kept checking my watch, counting down the minutes until we landed.
As we began our descent into LA, the flight attendants made the usual announcements about landing and connecting flights. The reminder about tight connections snapped me out of my frustration and back into work mode. I glanced at my seatmate, still out cold, oblivious to the world.
The plane touched down, and as soon as it did, I grabbed my bag, ready to dash to my next gate. But just as I stood up, I heard one of the flight attendants make an important announcement: “Attention, passengers connecting to San Diego. There’s been a last-minute gate change. You’ll need to head to Terminal 4, Gate 45, as quickly as possible.”
Great, I thought. Just what I needed—a gate change. I turned to leave but hesitated as I glanced at Mr. Important, still snoring away. I debated whether to wake him up. Sure, he’d eaten my meal and been a complete jerk, but did that mean I should just leave him to miss his connection?
I nudged him lightly. “Hey, we’ve landed,” I said quietly.
Nothing. He didn’t even stir.
I nudged him a bit harder. “You might want to wake up; we’ve landed, and there’s a gate change.”
This time, he mumbled something unintelligible and turned his head the other way, clearly not ready to wake up. Figuring the general commotion would eventually wake him, I decided to focus on my own connection. I couldn’t afford to miss my flight, so I hurried off the plane.
The terminal was bustling with people, and I had to weave through the crowd to reach my new gate. By the time I got there, they were already boarding. I made it just in time, and as I settled into my seat, a wave of relief washed over me. I was on my way to San Diego, and I finally had a moment to breathe.
It wasn’t until I arrived in San Diego and met up with my colleagues that I got the full story. As we were chatting about our flights, one of my coworkers, Lisa, mentioned seeing someone familiar.
“There was this guy at LAX who looked like he’d just woken up from a coma,” Lisa said, laughing. “He was stumbling off the plane, completely disoriented. I overheard him arguing with a gate agent because he missed his connection. Apparently, he was asleep when they announced the gate change, and by the time he woke up, it was too late.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “What did he look like?”
Lisa described him—a man in his early 40s, wearing a slightly wrinkled button-down shirt, slacks, and polished shoes, with an expensive watch he kept checking as he argued with the gate agent. His hair was a mess, and he looked both frazzled and furious.
There was no doubt in my mind—it was him.
“Oh, that guy!” I said, satisfaction creeping into my voice. “Yeah, he was seated next to me. Can you believe he ate my meal while I was in the restroom and then fell asleep? I tried to wake him, but he wouldn’t budge.”
Lisa’s eyes widened. “No way! That’s karma in action right there.”
I couldn’t agree more. As much as the ordeal had frustrated me, there was something deeply satisfying about knowing karma had stepped in. While I made it to my meeting on time, Mr. Important was stuck in LA, missing his connections and probably regretting his decision to indulge in both meals.
Sometimes, what goes around really does come around. And in this case, karma didn’t let it slide.
