During my first week as a flight attendant, I spilled hot coffee on a first-class passenger’s lap. (He was wearing light denim jeans.) Of course, I was mortified.

Customer: “Please don’t say another word about it. If this is the worst thing that happens today, then it was a good day.”

It’s been about ten years, and I still think about this kind man.

I have paid extra for seat allocation for my flight since I like having a window seat. A mother and her maybe-ten-year-old son have been seated in the two seats next to me. The mother looks at me, tuts, and just stares at me expectantly.

Me: “Yes?”

Mother: “Well? My son wants the window seat. You need to move.”

If she had been polite, I would have obliged. I might have paid for the seat, but it’s only a three-hour flight, and I know it can be tough managing kids on flights, even short ones, so I sometimes have sympathy. Not with this mother, though.

Me: “No, I don’t think I will. I paid for this seat specifically, thanks.”

Mother: “You heartless b****! My son needs to sit by the window!”

Me: “Then maybe you should have reserved a specific seat like I did. Take care.”

With that, I close my eyes, put on my headphones, and lean my head against the window

A minute or two later, my shoulder is being aggressively tapped. I open my eyes and see the angry mother glaring at me, hands on my shoulder, with one of the flight attendants protesting. I take off my headphones.

Flight Attendant: “—not to touch other passengers, ma’am!”

Mother: “The b**** was ignoring me!

The flight attendant stares pointedly at the mother’s own child.

Flight Attendant: “Ma’am, please calm your language; there are children present.”

The flight attendant looks at me with a sympathetic look.

Flight Attendant: “Ma’am, apologies to interrupt you, but may I please see your boarding pass?”

Me: “Absolutely! I’m always happy to oblige people who ask nicely.”

I present my boarding pass.

Flight Attendant: *To the mother* “Ma’am, this is the lady’s assigned seat, so she doesn’t have to move. Please take your assigned seats and prepare for take-off.”

Mother: “You need to make concessions for my child! He needs the window seat—”

Mother’s Child: “Mom, I don’t care! It’s you who always wants the window seat.”

With that revelation from a thoroughly embarrassed child, I go back to my music, and mother and child take their seats.

After the in-flight meal is served, the mother gets up to use the toilet and the boy speaks to me.

Mother’s Child: “Sorry about her. I usually travel with my dad because this kind of stuff always happens with my mom.”

Me: “It’s okay. It’s nice to know you’ve learned some manners despite… well…”

Mother’s Child: “Yeah… Thanks for standing up to her.”

And with that, he went back to his iPad and I went back to sleep. Stay strong, little man. Keep that apple far from the tree.

I just turned fourteen, and as a surprise, my family is taking me to London. With a certain anticipated game coming out on May 12, I am trying to get 100% on its predecessor before it releases, so I bring my Switch. 

The plane is about to take off, and I have settled into my seat with my sister sitting in the middle reading. My parents are sitting in the front, and with the way the seats are set up, there are large gaps between them. I realize a younger child — around seven or eight — is watching me through the gaps. I smile at him, but his face is transfixed on the screen, so I go back to playing.

Mid-take off, the child taps my shoulder, looking at me excitedly.

Child: “You play [Game], too?”

Me: “Uh, yeah.”

The child starts excitedly talking about the game, chatting about everything he has done. I learn that he used to go over to his best friend’s house all the time, but they moved shortly after he won, and how annoyed he is that he won’t be able to play its sequel until Christmas.

He quiets down, and I return to my gaming session. My sister has now passed out.

I set my Switch down inside my bag so as not to wake her, and I instead browse some of the books I brought. My backpack is an older one from school and has a padded strapped area where you would normally put your computer or tablet. The strap has broken off, so we’ve added a knot-type thing that is notoriously hard to open. It’s extra padded, so I place my Switch in there and go about my business.

You can probably guess what’s coming.

I feel my backpack getting whisked out from under my feet, and I spin around to try to find where it went. A middle-aged woman is angrily trying to rip open the strap, while the child is glued to the TVs in the seats.

Me: “What the h***?”

The woman ignores me, so I reach through and grab my backpack.

Woman: “HELP! THIS LADY IS TRYING TO STEAL MY BACKPACK!”

A flight attendant comes over. My sister is wide awake and frowning.

The flight attendant takes one look at the woman angrily wrenching the strap, the lavender purple backpack with hand sanitizer keychains and a hooked-on Squishmallow, and me trying to grab my bag back.

Me: “That’s my bag! She’s trying to steal my Switch!”

The woman has now pulled out a large pair of plastic scissors, the type you would give to a young kid doing a craft project. The flight attendant starts blowing a whistle, getting everyone’s attention.

Woman: “STOP THAT! YOU’RE SCARING [CHILD]!”

The child in question was looking defeated and annoyed if anything.

Multiple larger staff members came over and restrained the woman for having a weapon, though sadly no duct tape. We landed, and police quickly arrived to escort her off the plane, while she was screaming about how “her dear baby needs his console” and still pulling my bag with her.

It took a good twenty minutes to get it back, but luckily, nothing was damaged. A man and a woman arrived with another young boy in tow, and the child from the plane ran over with a resounding call of, “DAD!”

Turns out the “best friend” was actually his stepbrother. The dad had moved away with his family because the mom was stalking him after she cheated and they divorced. They had joint custody, but this was apparently the mother’s last chance, and she was trying to leave for a vacation — which she wasn’t allowed to do with the child — probably so she could escape since she was on her last leg.

My sister ended up playing with them while we got it sorted out, and my mom and the child’s stepmom are now keeping in touch for playdate reasons. The father now has full custody.

I have an emotional support cat. Her name is Alice, and she is the cutest, fluffiest, best senior kitty ever and has the softest meow that you can barely hear unless she really wants or needs you to. I have her because I get really bad anxiety attacks to the point where I’m completely unresponsive, I don’t talk, move, or respond in any way, and I just sit staring off into space crying and shaking. Alice has always helped me through them. She knows the signs of me starting to get an anxiety attack and rubs up against my hand or face to distract me. I usually get the worst anxiety attacks in crowded, hot, and loud spaces or on long car rides and on planes but occasionally need her just out in public.

I went on a trip to Florida with my dad, but we couldn’t get seats next to each other on the airplane for some reason, so I got stuck sitting next to a middle-aged woman. Throughout the entire flight, she constantly berated me with questions about my cat. They weren’t the usual “How old is she?” or “What’s her name?” questions. They were questions like “Why do you have that?”

After I explained that I needed her for emotional support, the woman asked way more questions and made many unnecessary comments.

Woman: “You don’t look like you need her. You just wanted your pet on the flight, didn’t you?”

The flight I was on actually allowed pets as long as they were in their carriers, but Alice was outside and on my lap to comfort me as that had been an especially hard morning.

Woman: “You’re obviously a delinquent and aren’t new to breaking the rules.”

That was probably because I have piercings, dyed hair, and a couple of tattoos.

At one point she even told me:

Woman: “You don’t really need that cat. Put it away before I take it from you!”

She faked sneezing and coughing to get the flight attendants to make me put her away, but they didn’t — because she was wearing her emotional support animal vest, meaning that I need her. People around me were asked if they had any allergies to cats. The woman next to me was not one of the people who did. They told the woman that they could move her to a different seat if she was allergic or uncomfortable, but she declined, even though it would have been much easier for everyone involved.

At one point, I think Alice might have sensed that there was something wrong with me; I was visually uncomfortable and holding onto her tight because of the threat this woman made to take Alice from me. She meowed — not directly at the woman. (May I remind you that she has the SOFTEST meow ever?)

The woman screamed at the flight attendant.

Woman: “That cat hissed at me! She is holding a vicious animal! I’m scared! It needs to be put down; it bit me!”

Alice has never bitten, hissed, or scratched me or anyone on purpose, ever. She doesn’t even play-fight.

Flight Attendant: “Ma’am, obviously, nothing is wrong with this cat.” *To me* “Is everything all right, ma’am?”

Me: “No!”

After like forty-five minutes of this woman’s bulls***, she got moved to a different seat, the staff on the flight apologized to me, and Alice got a seat of her own and extra treats.

This was two years ago, and I haven’t been on a plane since in fear something like this would happen again. Plus, I feel bad if other people have to move seats because of an allergy.

I don’t know what that woman had against my cat, but I think it’s safe to say she’s probably a dog person.

I sustained very bad injuries to my face this month. I’m in the stage of healing when the scar tissue has formed, but it’s still very tender “new skin”. I’m going to have very obvious facial scarring for the rest of my life. The injury starts about an inch above my hairline and goes down over my brow so that on that part, hair will not grow. It continues down my cheek where it is deepest; I’ll always probably have an indentation in the fullest part of my cheek. Then, it continues to my jawline. 

In some ways, it’s okay. I’m happy it’s just cosmetic damage. My friends are super reassuring, telling me how bada** and sick it’s gonna look. They say I’m still as hot as ever, now a little more sexy and mysterious!

But in some ways, it really sucks… I know that I’m always gonna be seen first as “the girl with the scar”, and it feels especially bad when people look at me differently.

This week, I have to fly home for a family thing; it’s a plan I made long before my injury. I’m not really looking forward to the pity or people making a big deal of it; I’d rather it not be acknowledged.

I recently met with my dermatologist, who said that I am at the stage of scar tissue formation and that I no longer should be dressing the wounds; the skin is healing, and instead, I need to be applying topical cream and Vaseline to keep the site clean and moist.

It also looks a bit ugly; the building scar tissue is very red and tender, and with the Vaseline over it, it looks slick and shiny.

So, I get on this flight. I have the window seat, and I put on my headphones and drift off to sleep while the plane is still boarding.

I wake up to this kid, maybe four years old, sitting next to me, throwing a tantrum. I don’t catch the first part of it, and I honestly can’t understand what he is yelling about. His father leans over to speak to me.

Father: “Can you cover that injury?”

Me: “My dermatologist recommends I don’t, so no, I don’t think I will.”

He starts snapping at me.

Father: “There is no need to be so rude. That injury is graphic, and it’s scaring my little one.”

Me: “This is my face — the only d*** face I’ve got. It sucks being told I’m so ugly I can’t show my g**d*** face in public.” 

He starts to backtrack.

Father: “Just until it’s healed!”

Me: “It’ll always be with me. Maybe teach some f****** compassion and respect instead of telling a girl half your d*** age what you think about her face. That’s rude.” 

He actually got up after that, and I think he went to a stewardess about a seat change because a young couple came to sit next to me in a few minutes instead.

I’ve gotta admit, I felt so low that I put on my sunglasses and had a quiet cry for a few minutes.