One Christmas I received a t-shirt which reads, “Careful, or you’ll end up in my novel.”
It had already been repeatedly announced that our flight was 100% full, every seat sold and occupied, no upgrades, no seat swaps, and no room for everyone’s carry-ons. So there was no excuse for the guy occupying both his seat and my own, one butt cheek planted firmly on each cushion, legs spread to encompass both seats fully. He wasn’t a particularly large individual who needed extra space, and he wasn’t resting there temporarily while tucking a bag beneath the seat; he was settled and just claiming extra territory.
I had plenty of time to observe him as I made my slow way down the plane aisle, and I considered and discarded, “I hate to interrupt your manspreading, but I think this is my seat,” as well as, “Sorry to bother you, but they really weren’t lying when they said every seat was sold.” I settled on a less snippy but still somewhat pointed, “I’m sorry to disturb you, but this is my seat.”
He looked at me as if he was doing me a favor by even considering moving into his own seat, and then he deposited his trash into my seat pocket before moving.
But since he kindly left his boarding pass with his name in my seat pocket, guess who is gonna die a terrible death in an upcoming story?
Also, beware of irritating writers, for we will eviscerate you in fiction.