It was a systematic, psychological war of attrition. Every time my eyelids began to droop, every time my exhausted nervous system attempted to slip into unconsciousness, the sneakers would strike: thump… thump… BANG.
When I reclined my seat by one single notch to relieve the pressure on my lower back, the mother reached forward and violently shoved the headrest back upright with her palm, snapping: “Don’t you dare crowd her personal space! Put your seat back up!”
When the senior flight attendant, a dignified Japanese-American woman named Naomi, noticed the commotion and politely intervened, the mother pulled a black titanium credit card from her designer wallet, held it inches from Naomi’s nose, and stated:
“I am Melissa Sterling-Vance. My husband sits on the commercial aviation advisory committee for the Seventh Circuit. If you speak to my daughter again, I will have your supervisor meet this aircraft at the gate in Chicago with a termination notice.”
