Move or Die

- Hotel to LAX: 40 minutes.
- United Check-in: 70 minutes
- Economy Plus Bulkhead Aisle Seat:$40
- One checked bag: $15
- TSA Processing: 35Minutes
- Ejecting a stereotypical LA Drama Queen from my seat: Priceless.

After the LAX CheckIn Nightmare I was ready to sit down and enjoy my Economy Plus bulkhead aisle seat...
And since I have Zero status with United, I was in the fourth seating group.
I'm not worried though... Its good, actually. If I get on last, my shoulder won't get whacked by other passengers as they go by.
Sooo... I'm one of the last people to get on the plane.
And look at that... There's someone in my seat...
It was a woman, kind of anyway: a 50+year old Cougar who had almost 3 liters of silicon bolted-on to her chest and huge collagen-injected lips. Her skin was so brown and sun-damaged that she looked like large Koi fashioned out of an old catchers mitt.
She looked like she spent Monday, Wednesday and Friday at the tanning salon and on Tuesday and Thursday she got the Blue Plate Special surgery-of-the-day down at Doc Hollywood's Impants-R-Us... She had the permanently suprised look that indicated a questionable face lift, and cheekbone implants that protruded further from her face than her much-adjusted remnant of a nose.
She was dominating a very animated conversation with a 20-something prospective boytoy who was sporting E3 nerdware- featuring some edgy pseudo-Manga girls and a high-tech game developers corporate logo on his hoodie.

"Excuse me Ma'am... I think you're in my seat."
I usually try to start out in a relatively civil manner.

She looked at me and gave a heavy sigh, irritated that I was interrupting her as she was stalking her prey.
I showed her my ticket- 6D, then gestured to the seat placard above her head.
She glared daggers up at me...
"I don't think so." She huffed, digging into her carry-on to find her ticket.
She finally found it down in the bottom of her bag, buried amongs her collection of dildos, vibrators, tubes of flavored lubricants, pocket rockets and other playthings. (not kidding, they were falling out of her purse as she was digging around...)
She finally came up with her seat assignment. 6B. Middle seat, across the aisle, between the mother with child-in-arms in 6A and the 60+ Asian woman in 6C.
She studied her ticket, then the seat ID sign- to see if there was some discrepancy she could exploit.
"Well... Hmmm." She hmmmed.
"I'm already sitting here. Why don't *YOU* sit over there."
In a pig's eye, you horrific gargoyle...
I counted to 10...in Mandarin.
The flight attendant in Biz Class had walked up behing me...watching.

Ms. Cougar assumed that since I didn't answer that the matter was settled and started to put away her bag and turned back to Boytoy, who nervously looked at me with an "I don't know her" look...

"Honey. Move out before I lose every bit of my paitence and charm and forcibly move you."

She looked back at me with her mouth open, looking every bit like I had slapped her with a mackerel.
"I'm NOT sitting in a middle seat." I told her.

"Well! How rude!" And gathered her crap.

Rude? You want rude, Honey?
Rude is when you plop your ass down in someone else's seat and expect to get away with it since you spent megabucks on your body modifications.
She flounced across to aisle to her seat and glowered at me.

Forget it, Honey. I've been glared at by experts.
I have a 15 year old daughter.
It'll take more than a bad look and a 52" chest to get me to sit in a middle seat next to a crying infant for 3 hours and 45 minutes.

TBG - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ