I’m flying in an airplane and I’m at war with the guy sitting in front of me. I’m not sure if he knows it, but he declared this war when he leaned his seat all the way back. There are some airlines where I accept this practice. Those airlines have seats squished so close together that it is impossible to find comfort without reclining the seats. My current carrier, Alaska Airlines, is not one of those airlines.

When I first moved to Seattle, I studied the airport. I knew that I would travel often to visit Doolies and NYC. While I was disappointed that Continental, my Houston-based airline of choice, did not have many flights in Seattle, I found Alaskan Airlines, a Continental partner who respects (somewhat) my Continental Elite Platinum status (yes, you remember—I’m a god to them), to fly to Orange County. While I very much enjoyed my visit to Alaska, I discovered quickly that its airline namesake was awful. It is commonplace for Alaskan Airlines to have a 60% or worse on-time departure record, with delays lasting over an hour (for today’s anecdotal evidence: we sat at the gate for thirty minutes while the ground crew unloaded misplaced cargo). The one advantage of Alaskan Airlines is the seats. With its older planes, they afford more legroom even when not reclined. Because of this, few passengers recline the seats.

The man seated in front of me has gone against this policy and fully reclined his seat. I type this with my arms pulled back in a mockery of dinosaur arms, and my wrists bent at an awkward chicken-wing angle. As my contribution to this war, I press my knees forcefully into his seat in what I hope provides an uncomfortable experience. At times, I blow air onto his bald spot, which floats a few inches from my mouth. While I mastered control of my breathing through my collegiate trumpet training, I doubt he feels it. Even if he doesn’t, it’s deeply satisfying, probably because of the meditative aspects of breathing deeply.

The worse part is after he napped, my neighbor pulled out his computer. He’s playing solitaire as I type, in full comfort with his fully reclined seat, and ample monitor and keyboard space, thanks to the person in front of him, who has wisely chosen not to lean her seat back.

(I know my anger derives from the frustration of the flight, and the man in front of me had every right to lean his chair back. But at times like these, rational thoughts flee my brain and I clamp on to all perceived or real slights.)