After days of relentless work, I finally found myself boarding the plane. This flight was supposed to be my sanctuary—just a few hours to switch off, lose myself in a movie, and let my mind drift into the much-needed peace I had been craving. All I wanted was silence, a break from the noise and stress that had consumed my days. But as the jet began its slow taxiing, the tranquility I had longed for was abruptly shattered.
In front of me sat a young woman, no older than twenty-five, her presence as disruptive as it was oblivious. As soon as she settled into her seat, she casually tossed her long, thick hair over my tray table, effectively blocking my view of the screen. I could feel my heart rate rise, but I took a deep breath and reminded myself that confrontation would only escalate things.
With a forced smile, I politely asked her to move her hair out of my space. She gave a quick, sincere apology and complied, which I appreciated. For a few moments, I thought the issue had been resolved. But then, barely ten minutes later, her hair was once again spilling over the table like an unruly wave, blocking my view of the movie.
I leaned forward, cleared my throat, and repeated my request. This time, however, she didn’t even acknowledge me. She didn’t even turn her head—just continued on with her business as though I was invisible. A rush of irritation flooded my chest. That’s when something inside me snapped. I realized I couldn’t let this go again.
So, I decided to take matters into my own hands, but not in a way that she would expect.
Here’s what I did next—though I’m curious to know if you think it was the right choice.
I reached into my bag and pulled out three pieces of gum, one by one. Slowly, deliberately, I popped each piece into my mouth and chewed with an almost meditative calm. My eyes remained focused, my expression neutral as I silently inserted the gum into her hair, strand by strand, one after another. The sensation was oddly satisfying, as if every piece of gum was a small rebellion against her thoughtless disregard for my space.
It took about fifteen minutes before she finally turned around, sensing something was off. The puzzled look on her face told me she was starting to realize what had just happened. I watched her fingers instinctively reach up to her hair, and I knew I had made my point.
I wonder, though—did I go too far? Was that an unnecessary escalation, or did she finally learn a lesson about boundaries?
She touched her hair—and froze. Her fingers trembled as she tugged at the strands, but the gum was firmly stuck. "What... is... this?" she screamed, her voice rising in panic as she struggled to remove the sticky mess from her locks. The sound of her frantic attempts grated on my nerves, but I didn’t let it show. Without shifting my gaze from the screen, I replied in the calmest tone I could muster, “This is the result of your arrogance.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she spun around, her face flushed with anger. “You’re insane!”
“And you,” I said slowly, each word carrying the weight of restraint, “are disrespectful.” I leaned back in my seat, savoring the moment. “Now, you have two options. Option one: continue the flight like this and risk losing half of your hair by the time we land. Option two: I can help you right now with a small pair of scissors. I have manicure scissors in my bag.” I paused, letting the gravity of my words sink in. “Want that?”
Her face drained of color, and she froze, eyes wide as she realized I wasn’t joking. I leaned in slightly, but kept my voice low, never raising it above the soothing hum of the engines. “If you throw your hair over my tray table again, you’ll be bald the next time. I’m very precise—even in turbulence.”
For a moment, she looked like she might protest, but then, perhaps realizing that she had no ground to stand on, she sat back in her seat. Her face was pale, her mouth set in a tight line. I could almost hear her heart racing, but I wasn’t about to feel bad. In fact, I felt a strange satisfaction as I leaned back, finally starting to unwind.
The rest of the flight was a stark contrast to the chaos that had preceded it. She didn’t move a muscle, barely even breathing, as though she were afraid that any slight misstep would lead to further consequences. As for me, I could finally breathe again. The movie played on, and I relaxed into my seat, savoring the peace I had so hard earned.
I watched the screen, letting the soothing rhythm of the film take me away. Meanwhile, her hair was neatly wrapped into a tight, controlled bun. I couldn’t help but feel a little smug about the turn of events—after all, some lessons, it seemed, had to be learned the hard way.