The Exchange

As I stowed away my carry-on luggage inside the overhead bin of the Emirates flight, I was going through mixed emotions. It was always hard to leave New York but I was also looking forward to going back home, being in my own space, ‘space’ being the key-word here. As much as I love the city, living conditions are always crammed, whether I rent a room from a stranger via Airbnb or depend upon the generosity of friends. 

And while the economy class seat of a 14 hour flight was the last thing I wanted, I was also glad that I had checked in early and got myself the best seat I could get under the conditions. My two co-passengers had already made themselves uncomfortable in the window and middle seats. I smiled weakly, nodded my head a little as if to say ‘hello neighbours’ and plonked myself on the aisle seat. 

Rarely do I pay attention to the people on flights and even after many hours of being around them, it’s unlikely that I would recognize the person sitting next to me if I were to ever run into him/her. As I always do, I took out my book and began reading, while new boarders kept settling themselves into their seats. In a little while the announcements began, my eyelids started to droop so I closed my book and decided to take a nap. 

I had probably slept for about 30 minutes when I heard the clinking of glasses as the flight attendant brought around the drinks trolley. I asked for their selection of cheap red, as did the gentleman sitting next to me. 

“I need several of these to get through this flight,” he said.

I laughed. “Cheap wine always helps one pass out faster”.

We began making small talk. Where do you live? Where are you headed to? Blah blah. 

He was a large, middle-aged man and the first thing that struck me was how tired he looked. When I say large I don’t mean fat, though he could easily afford to drop several kilos. He was very tall, I’m guessing at least 6 foot 3, with a large frame and even in the nicer seat with adequate leg room, he looked extremely uncomfortable. 

I also found out that he was a senior manager in a technology company and was on his way to Dubai for a conference. It was a last minute thing, business class was full and here he was stuck with the rest of us cattle. 

“Could you do me a favour?” he asked.

Like I didn’t know that was coming. 

“Could you ...?”

Switch seats? You mean give up my aisle seat, that I selected 3 months ago when I made my flight reservations? For a middle seat?

“I’ll pay you for it,” he said.

I started laughing when he offered me money to move a few inches into my spot. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask the man how much, but I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me and what if he took the question seriously. 

If it had been a smaller person I would have politely said no. As nice a person as I am, I have, in the past, refused to switch to a middle seat to accommodate someone. Not on a long flight, I’ll be damned!

In this case however, I couldn’t do it. The man really needed that extra leg room and I for sure didn’t. And considering everything, the middle seat in the first row, left column, wasn’t all that bad. 

After several movies and sporadic bouts of sleep, we finally reached Dubai. John (we had exchanged business cards) and I had barely spoken two words to each other after the exchange had taken place. As the flight landed and the seat belt signs went off, I began getting my luggage out of the bin. Standing by me, John thanked me again and handed me over a roll of 20 dollar bills. I was so startled when I saw the money that I almost dropped it. Hurriedly I pushed it back into his hand as we went back and forth with words for a couple of minutes.

“I can’t take your money for giving up my seat. It seriously was no big deal.”

“You have no idea how much difference it made to me. Please take it. Get something for your wife.”

“I don’t have a wife”

“Then get something for yourself”

“Please. I can’t take your money. In fact I can’t believe that you’re offering me cash for exchanging my seat with yours. Who does that??”

It went on for a while. He was insistent. For me it was unthinkable. Eventually I won. Or so I thought. A month later I got a package with a bottle of single malt whiskey and a very nice bottle of Merlot. There was a card along with it that said “Enjoyed drinking the cheap wine with you on the flight. I hope this will balance it out. Hope we run into each other again some day.”

The first thought I had was, how the heck did he get my mailing address?