I’m fat, so I bought two airplane seats. A rude couple tried to steal one. They called me a “fat jerk”—but at 35,000 feet, I made sure they regretted every single word.
Hi, I’m Carly. I’m 32 years old, and I’ve spent my whole life trying to feel okay in a body that the world always has something to say about. I’m not just a little chubby. I’m the kind of fat where strangers comment on what’s in my shopping cart, where people give me looks on the street, and where I’ve learned how to shrink myself in public—even when my body won’t let me.
That’s why when I fly alone, I always buy two airplane seats. Not because I want luxury—but because I want peace.
When I fly with my boyfriend, Matt, I don’t need two seats. He lifts the armrest, lets me lean against him, and always makes me feel safe and loved. But this time, I was flying solo to a marketing conference in Westlake. And alone is a whole different experience.
So, on Flight 2419, I paid an extra $176 for the seat beside me. Not because I couldn’t physically fit in one seat, but because I didn’t want to spend three hours squished next to a stranger, dodging dirty looks every time turbulence made us bump shoulders.
I boarded early and settled into my window seat and the middle seat I’d also bought. I lifted the armrest between them, set my bag under the seat, and took a deep breath. This was my bubble. My little corner of calm in the sky.
I was flipping through the safety card when I heard a cheerful voice say, “Babe, look! I can sit right next to you instead!”
I looked up. A couple was standing in the aisle, staring at the empty seat beside me like it was the prize on a game show. He had slicked-back hair and a too-tight shirt. She had perfect hair, flashy jewelry, and a look on her face that said she always got what she wanted.
“Sorry,” I said politely, “I actually paid for both of these seats.”
The guy blinked at me. “You bought two seats? For yourself?” His voice was full of disbelief, like I’d just said I owned a tiger.
I felt my cheeks get hot. “Yes. For personal comfort. That seat is mine too.”
He let out a loud laugh. “Well, it’s empty, right? No one’s using it.”
“I paid for it so that no one would be using it,” I said firmly. “Please go to your assigned seat.”
But he just dropped down into the middle seat like I hadn’t said a word. His cologne immediately filled the air, strong and unpleasant.
“Come on, don’t be dramatic! It’s a full flight. No sense wasting space,” he said casually, like I was the one being unreasonable.
His girlfriend plopped into her aisle seat across from him and leaned forward.
“We just want to sit together,” she said, giving me a fake sweet smile. “It’s not that big a deal.”
But it was a big deal. I’d paid money—a lot of it—for that empty space. Now this guy’s elbow was touching mine, his leg brushing against my thigh. The calm I’d paid for? Gone.
“I get that you want to sit together,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, “but I paid for this seat specifically to avoid this kind of situation.”
He rolled his eyes and spread his legs wider. “Just move over a little,” he muttered. “It’s not my fault if you need extra room.”
“Excuse me?” I said, shocked.
His girlfriend leaned in again, her tone turning nasty. “Oh my god, just drop it already. You’re being a fat jerk about this!”
The words hit me like a slap. People around us turned their heads. An older woman across the aisle looked away. A man two rows up stared in silence.
I could’ve called the flight attendant. I could’ve started a big scene. But instead, I smiled.
“Fine,” I said. “Keep the seat.”
The plane took off, and once we were cruising at 35,000 feet, I quietly reached into my bag and pulled out a family-sized bag of extra crunchy kettle chips.
I turned to Mr. Entitled with a big smile. “Hope you don’t mind. I always snack when I fly.”
I opened the bag with an exaggerated crackle, making sure the noise echoed. Then I leaned back, shifted around, and spread out—reclaiming every inch of space I had paid for. Every time he tried to pull away, I leaned in a little more.
When my elbow bumped his for the third time, he turned. “Could you…?”
“Oh! Sorry!” I said brightly. “Tight quarters, you know?”
I pulled out my tablet and angled it in a way that forced me to stretch my arms. Then I grabbed my giant water bottle and “accidentally” nudged him as I unscrewed the cap.
Twenty minutes in, and I could feel his frustration boiling over. He kept glancing at his girlfriend, who now had her arms folded and was glaring like a cartoon villain.
Finally, he snapped.
“Can you please stop moving around so much?”
I paused mid-crunch. “I’m just trying to get comfortable in my seats.”
“Seats? It’s one seat. You’re in one seat.”
I smiled, popping another chip in my mouth. “Actually, I’m in one and a half seats. The half you’re currently squashing into? I paid for that too.”
His face turned red. “This is ridiculous.”
“I agree,” I said calmly.
Then he hit the call button.
A tired-looking flight attendant named Jenn arrived. “How can I help?”
“This woman,” he said, pointing at me like I was a broken seatbelt, “keeps elbowing me and eating in my face. I can’t sit here.”
Jenn turned to me.
I held up two fingers. “I paid for both these seats. 14A and 14B.”
She pulled out her tablet, tapped a few times, and then nodded.
“Sir, both seats were purchased by this passenger. You’ll need to return to your assigned seat, which is… 22C.”
He blinked like he couldn’t believe it. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m afraid I am,” she said with a tight smile.
He groaned and stood up, grumbling. “This is insane.”
“Have a pleasant flight,” I said sweetly as he squeezed past me.
His girlfriend hissed across the aisle. “You really bought an extra seat just because you’re too fat for one? That’s pathetic.”
Jenn immediately turned, her face serious. “Ma’am, that kind of language is completely unacceptable. I need you to stop speaking that way or I’ll have to report it.”
Miss Entitled rolled her eyes but didn’t say another word. Her cheeks were burning red.
As they stomped to the back of the plane to sit separately, I finally exhaled. Jenn leaned down and said quietly:
“I’m really sorry about that.”
“Not your fault. Thanks for backing me up,” I said.
“Just press the call button if you need anything.”
I leaned back, stretched out across both seats, and let myself breathe. It felt like victory.
An hour later, I heard noise coming from the back of the plane. I peeked behind me. Mr. and Miss Entitled were back on their feet, arguing with another flight attendant.
“We just want to sit together!” she whined.
“Sir, please return to your seat. You’re blocking the aisle,” the attendant said firmly.
“Someone said they’d switch!” she shouted. “Now you’re saying we can’t?”
“As I explained,” the attendant said, clearly annoyed, “mid-flight seat changes must be approved, and right now you need to move for beverage service.”
I watched it all unfold like it was a show just for me.
Then I quietly pressed the call button.
Jenn came over. “Need anything?”
I spoke softly. “Earlier, when they were sitting beside me… she called me a ‘fat jerk.’ I know it’s probably too late now, but I wanted someone to know.”
Jenn’s kind smile disappeared. “Actually, it’s not too late. That counts as harassment. Would you be willing to file a report when we land?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
She nodded. “I’ll make a note. And Carly?” She looked me in the eyes. “I’m really sorry. No one should speak to you like that. Ever.”
That simple moment nearly brought me to tears. For years, I’d tried to disappear—to take up less space, to not be a bother. And here someone was saying: you have the right to exist.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
After landing, I waited in line to exit. Mr. and Miss Entitled were ahead of me. I cleared my throat and said, loud enough for nearby passengers to hear:
“Hey! Next time, think twice before stealing someone’s seat and insulting them. Some of us are just trying to exist without being harassed.”
Miss Entitled’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato. Mr. Entitled stared very hard at the overhead bins.
A woman nearby gave me a thumbs-up.
Before leaving the airport, I filed the complaint. Three days later, I got an email from the airline:
“We’ve reviewed the incident reported on Flight 2419. This behavior violates our passenger code of conduct and has been noted in their profiles. As an apology, we’ve added 10,000 bonus miles to your account.”
I sent the email to Matt. He replied almost instantly:
“That’s my girl. Taking up exactly the space you deserve!”
And that’s the thing about space—whether it’s on a plane or in life: you deserve to take it up. Especially when you’ve paid for it. Especially when just existing feels like a battle.
I wish I had learned that lesson earlier. But I’m proud I finally did—35,000 feet in the air.
