Began my day in the emergency exit row of an A319: Window seat with legroom like a boss.
The guy came around to ask everybody in our row if we were clear on the requirements for sitting by the exit door. He showed up just as I was pulling my flashlight out of my purse and testing the beam against my palm before stowing it in my shirt pocket.
"You're good," he said, without waiting for me to say anything, and pointed at the person next to me...
Now I'm crammed in a cattle car of a 737-800, aisle seat in steerage, aft of the wing, with my knees jammed against my chin and barely enough room to open my laptop. Capt. & Mrs. A-hole are seated outboard of me. I was already in my seat when they showed up and gestured for me to rise so they could clamber in.
"Unless you want to trade seats?" I asked, hopefully.
"She'll be taking the window seat," replied Capt. A. in a peremptory tone, gesturing with his beach novel.
I bit my lip to keep from blurting "Pity about her vocal cords..." and let them in. I hope the nosy jerk is reading this as I type... Maybe so. He suddenly made a big show of looking out the window.