Flying fourteen hours across the Pacific isn’t easy, but that day I was determined to make it through. I’m Toby, thirty-five, a husband, and a father, returning home after nearly three weeks away. I had splurged on premium economy—a rare treat just to survive the trip. I was exhausted, counting every hour until I could see my wife and son. Everything was set for a calm flight. Then the honeymooners boarded.
They were loud, laughing, and inseparable. Dave, tall with messy hair and a booming voice, and his new wife, Lia, strutting down the aisle like it was a runway. I had no idea these two would make the next fourteen hours feel like a hostage situation.
No sooner had I settled than Dave leaned toward me with a grin. “Hey, I’m Dave. Hate to ask, but could you swap seats with my wife? We just got married.”
I smiled politely. “Congratulations. Where’s she sitting?”
“Economy, 48C,” he said vaguely.
I looked at my upgraded seat—extra legroom, almost a thousand dollars—and back at him. “I understand, but I paid for this. If you cover the difference, sure. Otherwise, I’m staying.”
His grin faded. “A thousand bucks? Seriously?”
“Nope,” I said. “I’m staying.”
He muttered something under his breath: “You’ll regret this.”
I should’ve taken that as a warning.
The first hour was tolerable—then came the coughing. Wet, theatrical coughs, impossible to ignore. I asked, “You okay?”
“Never better,” he rasped, before diving into another coughing fit.
Then came the movie—full volume, no headphones. Explosions, shouting, gunfire filling the cabin. A passenger leaned over: “Mind turning that down?”
“Forgot my headphones,” Dave shrugged. “Guess we all enjoy it together.”
Pretzel crumbs soon rained down on my lap. “Oops,” he smirked.
Then Lia joined him, perching on his lap. Whispering, giggling, kissing—like they were in a private suite instead of a crowded plane. I buried myself in my book, but the sounds were unavoidable.
After an hour, I’d had enough. I called a flight attendant over. “They’ve turned this flight into a honeymoon suite: coughing, loud movies, food showers, and a lap dance,” I said loudly enough for nearby passengers.
The attendant blinked, then addressed the couple. Lia pretended innocence. Dave crossed his arms.
“We’re newlyweds,” Dave said.
“Yes, but one passenger cannot sit on another’s lap. It’s a safety violation,” the attendant said firmly. “Please return to your assigned seats.”
They argued briefly, then were escorted to economy. I leaned back, relieved. “Enjoy your honeymoon,” I muttered.
An elderly man across the aisle chuckled: “Well played. Reminds me of my first marriage—dumb, but at least we behaved.”
A few minutes later, the attendant returned with a drink. “On the house,” she said. “Thanks for your patience.”
I lifted the mini whiskey bottle. “To peaceful flights and karma.”
But karma wasn’t finished with them.
Later, turbulence struck. Lia demanded to use the front restroom. Dave claimed she had a medical condition. They headed toward the front—right toward me.
I stood in the aisle. “Back of the plane.”
“Mind your business,” Dave snapped.
“Can’t. You made it everyone’s business.”
The stewardess arrived. “Back to your seats. Or I’ll involve the air marshal.”
Pale and defeated, they obeyed.
The rest of the flight was blissfully quiet. Landing in Los Angeles, the crew thanked me. Dave and Lia disembarked, still red-faced. I felt a flicker of pity, then remembered the coughing, pretzels, and volume. Gone.
I stepped off the plane, my wife and son waiting. Every ounce of frustration melted. Dave and Lia probably enjoyed their honeymoon. I returned to the people who mattered. And I learned this: love may be in the air, but sometimes, so is karma.