Taking Questions Tuesday: Elbow Wars

My mother, Proper Mother, remembers when it was "a must" that you dress up to fly.  This was when flying was luxurious.  This was when they gave you cocktails and real food on real plates.  

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This is no longer the case, of course.  But let me linger there wistfully for one more moment.

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OK.  Now, where was I going with this?  Oh, yes.  Just this week, I engaged in what can only be described as an "elbow war" while on a brief business flight for my role as Proper Professional.  You know what I mean by elbow war, but let me explain.

My colleague and I cleverly snagged the aisle and window seats of a front row, thinking/hoping/assuming that our witty banter would built a travel forcefield around the (undesirable) middle seat.  We were wrong, and an intrepid female traveler chose that as her seat.

Full disclosure:  I was in Proper Professional mode (aka, getting down to business), and sort of goofed.  I actually reached across Middle Seat Lady to show my colleague something on my phone, forgetting that was really rude and that she was, in fact, a person that I did not know, despite my arm stretching across her (limited) personal space.  

She said pointedly, "Excuse me."  I retracted my arm.

Then, the elbow war began.  She proceeded to jab, poke, and invade my (also limited) personal space with her elbow.  She was so aggressive about it that I ended up with nowhere to put my right arm.  I held it awkwardly out of the way, at which point my shoulder muscle started to complain.

I thought to myself, "Okay, Proper Paige, what are you going to do now?"

My elbow is a little passive aggressive, if I do say so myself.  When she moved her arm to reach a magazine, my elbow invaded the armrest.  Taking it back by a show of force, as it were.  She wasn't deterred. She crashed her elbow down on my arm with force.  It didn't hurt, per se, but it wasn't accidental.  My elbow sulked there until it decided to regroup and come up with another offensive.

This offensive, of course, involved heavy artillery:  a steaming hot cup of black coffee.

This.  But fuller.  And hotter.

No, before you decide that I am a horrible fraud of an etiquette type person, I did not spill, pour, or otherwise put coffee onto Middle Seat Lady.  I merely, and calmly, drank my coffee.  With my right hand.  And I will say this:  the specter of hot coffee in her lap deterred her angry left arm from any more offensive maneuvers in my general direction.  

Uh, is there a question here, Proper Paige?

Not really, except this:  What would you have done?

And before you say a word, I am fully aware that the first step in successful airplane arm relations is to *not* do what I did, aka, reach across someone as if they are invisible to talk to the person on their other side.

(ahem)

We all make mistakes sometimes.  

But it's graceful (at the very least) to admit it.

And having some coffee never hurts,