LIFE AT THE AIRPORT

“Excuse me,” Tom said, trying to stay polite. “That’s my seat. I specifically booked it.”

The woman looked up and said confidently, “I’m blonde, I’m smart, and I’m sitting in this aisle seat until the plane lands in Chicago.”

Tom frowned and checked her ticket. Sure enough, it clearly showed she was assigned the middle seat.

“Your ticket says you’re in the middle,” he pointed out. “I booked this aisle seat because I’m six-foot-five, and I need the legroom. You’re, what, five-foot-one? You’ll be just fine in the middle seat.”

The blonde, completely unfazed, repeated, “I’m blonde, I’m smart, and I’m sitting in this aisle seat until the plane lands in Chicago.”

The woman in the window seat chimed in, “You should probably move. My ex was only six-foot-one, and he always needed the aisle seat to avoid feeling cramped.”

Still, the blonde replied, “I’m blonde, I’m smart, and I’m sitting in this aisle seat until the plane lands in Chicago.”

Frustrated, Tom finally called over a flight attendant. After listening to the situation, the attendant nodded, leaned down, and whispered something in the blonde’s ear.

Suddenly, the blonde’s expression changed. Without a word, she grabbed her things and moved to the middle seat.

Relieved, Tom settled into his aisle seat.

After landing in Chicago, curiosity got the better of him. He approached the flight attendant and asked, “What did you say to her?”

The attendant grinned. “I told her the aisle seat wasn’t going to Chicago.”

Credit goes to respective owner.