I pushed my hand luggage down the center aisle counting my way to row sixteen. It was so quiet — you could hear a pin drop.
There may have been twenty passengers who had found their way into their seats as more of us made our way into the aircraft having been bussed to the plane. (This is what happens when you buy a last-minute bare-bones airline ticket).
The serenity was timely and unusual.
Once I placed my hand luggage in the overhead compartment, I sat in my aisle seat, 16D. Within seconds of reaching for my belt buckle, a five-foot elderly lady gradually approached my row as a flight attendant walked up from behind and stood right next to my seat.
“My seat is on sixteen,” the elderly woman said with some uncertainty.
“Yes, mam’, and which letter is it?” the flight attendant softly and politely asked her.
She placed her two bags on the seat in aisle fifteen and began to search for her boarding pass. I then rose from my seat and snuck myself into row fourteen to allow her sufficient room to sit…
