Swensday stuff

The Exit Row on Jet Blue Airlines, Flight 0496
Swen Nater

As you know, I’m 6’11”. When I fly, I need leg room. If I get stuck in a regular seat, my legs go numb. That’s assuming the person in front of me doesn’t recline his seat. If he does, OMG. The exit row has the best legroom. Ah, the wonderful feeling of being able to stretch out my legs, read a book, and not limp out of that airplane after we land. I don’t fly enough to obtain the status needed to get that seat automatically, so I have to wheel and deal. But I’ve done it enough now to be an expert. 99% of the time, I can find a way to touch an agent’s empathetic heartstring and get him or her to feel so bad for me, he or she will give me that seat with the philanthropic feeling of having donated to a worthy charitable cause. How do I do it? I have a plan.

First, when I approach the ticket counter, I make eye contact with the agent. I’m tempted to fake a limp but that’s overkill. Second, I smile and say, “Hello. How are you this wonderful day?” I usually make an amiable connection and then I know it’s time for step three. I let the agent know I’m considerate by having my flight information and drivers license handy and presenting it right away. The final step (This is where I close the deal.) is modestly and meekly saying, “You wouldn’t’ by chance have a seat with a little more leg room would you?” That’s when I straighten up and get up on my toes a little (The agent can’t see down there.) to make sure the agent is aware I have special needs. Like I said—it works 99% of the time.

But things have changed in the airline industry. Those money-hungry airlines are now charging sometimes $50 for an exit row seat. Such was the case last Tuesday on my five and one-half hour marathon trip from Seattle to Boston on Jet Blue Airlines. When I approached the ticket counter smile and all, I was in for an unpleasant surprise. After I made my pitch (and believe me, I could have won an Oscar with this one), the agent, without even looking up, said, “Yes, you may have an exit row, for $50. Would you like to purchase one?”

I’ve got my principles (and I’m cheap) and I told her, “No, I can’t afford it and my company won’t pay for it. Are you sure?” She reconfirmed her answer and said, “You can try at the gate.” When I got to the gate and repeated my four-step sympathy plan, adding a slight limp, I was met with the same results. But this time, the agent told me, “If you change your mind, let me know.” I was fuming but sat down in a seat at the boarding area. I glared at the agent and thought, ‘Yeah, buddy. How about you changing your mind?’

But I knew I had one last chance—on the plane. When I walked down the ramp and approached the entrance to the plane, I rose up to be as tall as I could be, right up to about three inches from the plane (My shoulders were even with the top of the doorway.) so the flight attendant could see I was way too tall for that airplane. As I bent down to enter the plane, I made eye contact with her that was designed to resemble a sad bulldog. “How are you?” I asked. I showed her my boarding pass, confident she would notice that seat was fit for a sardine, but she just told me to keep moving and have a nice flight. Right! I was going to have a nice flight alright. I sat down and took three Aleve. My knees were right up against the seat in front of me. But there was good news; there was a little kid there. Surely he wouldn’t recline his seat.

I was right; kids don’t recline their seats because kids don’t need more leg room. But kids like to rock and this kid thought his airplane seat was a rocking chair. For three hours, I felt like a nail being hammered into the back rest. Do you think, at that time, I was wishing I had paid the $50? Not on your life. I’ve got my principles (and I’m cheap).

After three hours of being pounded (The Aleve didn’t do a thing for me. Aleve is for inflammation, not direct ballistic-caused injury.), a flight attendant tapped me on the shoulder and said, “We’ve been talking back here and we wondered if you would like to move up to the exit row.” Duh! Before she could change her mind, I got my bags down from the overhead compartment and, after giving that kid a dirty look and thinking, “Ha ha the ha ha,’ sat down in the exit row. For the last two and one-half hours, I was pain free.

There’s a lesson to be learned here. What is it? I’ll give you a multiple choice.
a. Sticking with your principles, no matter what, builds character.
b. If you treat people right, eventually they will come through.
c. Don’t underestimate kids.
d. Don’t be a 6’11” idiot; spend the $50.

You guessed it; the correct answer is “d.”