Elbow-room is even more important if you’re in the middle seat. [1] (Continued from Charming Carlita’s Elbow) I picked a window seat when I booked the flights.  I was assigned 17F – a window seat near the back; almost back where they stuff poor people – the “steerage” of today.  People like me who were too stupid to book their flight 6 months in advance, or have less than 250,000 frequent flyer miles.  Now I’ve been re-assigned to 19B – a dreaded middle seat – in “steerage”.  They dropped Neil Armstrong in a specific crater on the moon in 1969, but they can’t figure out to keep me in the seat I was assigned two weeks ago. 

They should stagger people by body size when they seat us.  Fat/Skinny/Fat, or Skinny/Fat/Skinny.  I’ve been in the middle when it’s Fat/Fat/Fat and don’t want to do that again.  All you have to do is add the letter “r” and there you have it. 

This situation is where elbow-real-estate cunning and savvy makes the difference between being the meat in a Fat sandwich or being on the top layer of three-cupcake pyramid.  I prefer the latter, but the prospect of the former makes me head to the counter with my ticket and beg for an aisle or a window seat. 

The stern-faced lady at the checkout counter with the graying hair pulled back in such a tight ponytail I can’t figure out how she can even open her eyes has already told me “every seat is taken, unless you want to pay the $29.95 upgrade, it’s impossible”.   But this person at the departure gate smiles and says “Sure Mr. Blowers, would you like a window on the left or right side?”  They can build a space station and toss in a bunch of Ruskies and Yanks together, but they can’t coordinate between the check-in counter and the gate counter.  Either someone is lying, or the computer system at United Airlines is still using punch cards.