A few years ago, I embarked on a flight from Toronto to Vancouver aboard a 787. The business class of this aircraft boasted these magnificent lie-flat pods. These cabins were arranged in a one-two-one configuration, meaning there were pairs of pods adjacent to each other. However, it wasn’t a significant concern if you were traveling solo since there was a privacy slider that could be raised. I was flying alone and ended up in one of those middle seats, but that was no issue.
I reached my seat, and the woman on the opposite side was already present.
Woman: “Hi there. If it’s okay, could you switch seats with my husband so we can sit together?”
Just as I had mentioned earlier, the location of this gentleman’s seat truly didn’t matter to me. It could have been of the same configuration as mine, or it could have been one of the individual ones next to a window, which would actually have been a pleasant upgrade – no one beside you and more space.
Me: “Sure, no problem. Where is it?”
Woman: “Great. It’s back there, 18B. I’ll tell him to come up here! Thank you!”
Business class consisted of only eight or nine rows.
Me: “Wait… 18B? Sorry, I’m not swapping out of business class to the rear.”
Woman: “But you said you would! He’s already heading this way!”
Me: “You can’t seriously expect me to exchange a pod for a middle seat at the back of the plane. Are you kidding me?”
I actually glanced around to check if someone was recording this; it felt like some sort of YouTube setup video.
Woman: “It’s not such a huge difference. And it’s in the bulkhead row, so there’s ample legroom.”
After further discussion about how this situation had even occurred, it turned out that the woman and her husband were originally assigned seats 18B and 18C. But for some reason, she had been offered a complimentary upgrade to business class and accepted it – expecting that the person next to her (me, in this instance) would simply swap. And now, 18C had been assigned to someone else, so there was no possibility for them to sit together back there.
Me: “Tell you what. If you can find anyone up here to swap with your husband, I’ll be more than willing to take that person’s seat, and you can have this one. Anywhere within this cabin, I’m fine with it. Then you can sit together. But I’m not moving back there.”
Woman: “But we both desire to sit together up here!”
Me: “I’m certain you do. But I believe you have two options: sit separately or sit together back there. I’m sure whoever is in 18C would be thrilled to sit up here. Take your original seat back, and you can both sit together.”
The woman furiously made her way to the back, and I half-anticipated a new, bewildered stranger to emerge, the fortunate recipient of an instant upgrade… but no, the woman returned. According to her, 18A relished the window bulkhead and had no intention of moving. 18C had family in 18D, E, and F and also refused to move. Someone later informed me that perhaps the flight attendants had intervened and simply instructed her to go to her designated seat – no seat-swapping was permitted.
Regardless of the circumstances, she reappeared in a fit of rage, making a grand spectacle and a lot of commotion as she sat down. I couldn’t have cared less. Thirty minutes after takeoff, I reclined and dozed off for the entire flight.
And I’m still perplexed that someone would think this makes any sense whatsoever.
