back rowOnce again, here I am in the back row of the plane. How does this always happen to me?

Have the airlines blacklisted me?

We bought four regular-priced tickets on American Airlines for a 5 1/2-hour flight. We weren‘t able to pick our seats online (!), which left us to beg the ticketing agents to seat us all together. Did I mention I was with a 6- and 8-year-old?


It took some maneuvering, and it was pathetic how thankful we were to be allowed to sit all together in the last row.

Once in the air, when the back-to-your-electronics tone sounded, the three seats in front of us reclined simultaneously — almost like a choreographed Three Stooges bit. Being in the back row, we couldn’t recline. I’m writing this on a laptop screen that’s tilting shut because the seat in front of me doesn’t allow me to open it all the way. I gave the guy a few deserved seat-shoves, because the jerk isn’t even trying to sleep. Just reclining.

About an hour later, a bathroom line fills my aisle space. I’m at eye-level with crotches and asses. By hour 3, that gross chemical-y airplane bathroom smell permeates our seating area. Ew.

Remember the good ol’ days, when there were empty seats on airplanes? And flight attendants used these back rows to sit back and flip through left behind magazines? *Sigh*

My mom, who is notoriously chatty on vacations, likes talking to people as they come and go to the toilet. I guess she figures as long as they’re standing above you — looking down your shirt, checking out what book your reading, or sneaking a peek at whatever it is you’re doing — they may as well be friendly.

My 8-year-old and I shared the same sentiment.

“Mom,” she said, “We should be in First Class, but we’re sitting in Last Class.”