I’ve had my fair share of strange encounters while traveling, but nothing prepared me for what happened on a flight from New York to Denver last spring. I travel frequently for work. I’m a nutrition consultant, which means I often fly between conferences and client meetings.
I’ve learned to keep things simple: always pack light, always bring my own snacks, and never expect too much peace on a plane. That day, my flight was around lunchtime, and I hadn’t eaten anything since early morning. I had a small carry-on, my laptop bag, and a protein bar I’d thrown into my pocket before leaving home.
Nothing fancy — just a peanut butter one that keeps my blood sugar from tanking. I have mild hypoglycemia, so going too long without eating makes me dizzy and shaky. Normally, I don’t even think twice about it.
When I got to my seat, 14B, middle seat, of course, I smiled politely at the people in my row. On the aisle sat a woman in her early thirties with an immaculate blowout, oversized sunglasses perched on her head, and a designer diaper bag at her feet. Beside her, in the window seat, was a little boy, maybe four or five years old, clutching a tablet and kicking the seat in front of him.
“Hi,” I said with a friendly nod as I slid into my seat. The woman glanced at me and muttered, “Hi,” before turning back to her son. From the start, it was clear she was the kind of parent who believed the world revolved around her child.
The boy started whining because his cartoon wouldn’t load, and she immediately waved over the flight attendant before we’d even taken off. “Excuse me! The Wi-Fi isn’t working!
My son needs his show or he’ll get upset!” she complained loudly. The attendant smiled patiently and explained that Wi-Fi only worked after takeoff, but the woman just sighed dramatically, as if she’d been personally insulted by airline policy. I popped in my earbuds, trying to tune out the fussing.
Once we were in the air, I pulled out my tablet and started reviewing notes for a presentation I was giving the next morning. About forty minutes into the flight, I started feeling lightheaded. I hadn’t eaten since six a.m., and it was now almost noon.
I decided to quietly unwrap my protein bar — I wasn’t bothering anyone, and there wasn’t any strong smell or mess. The moment I peeled back the wrapper, I felt someone tap my arm. “Excuse me,” the woman beside me said sharply.
“Could you not eat that right now?”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Oh — sorry, is your son allergic or something?”
She gave a little scoff. “No, but he doesn’t like the smell of food.
It makes him upset.”
I stared at her, unsure if I’d heard correctly. “You mean… he doesn’t like the smell of any food?”
She nodded, as if that was a completely reasonable thing to say. “Yes, he’s very sensitive.
If he smells food, he might throw a tantrum. And we’ve had such a long morning already.”
I waited for the punchline that never came. “I understand,” I said carefully, “but I really need to eat something.
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