Rick Watson made it to the plane just before the forward door closed.

“You must be Mr. Watson. We’ve been waiting for you,” a flight attendant said.

Mr. Tage had booked Rick a first-class ticket, but someone was already in seat 4F.

“There must be a mistake. This is my seat,” Rick said to the passenger.

“I’m going to have to ask you to take your seat, sir,” another flight attendant said.

“Yes, this is my seat. This numbskull is in it,” Rick said, pointing at 4F.

The flight attendant looked at Rick’s ticket.

“This is a full-fare first-class ticket, sir. It means that if you are late, we have the option to reseat you. Follow me,” the flight attendant said.

He followed the flight attendant to the last row of the aircraft.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Here’s a spot right here.”

The flight attendant pointed to an empty middle seat just in front of the back lavatory.

You’ve got to be kidding me!

“Now take your seat if you still want to fly today.”

Rick begrudgingly took the seat. About ten minutes into the flight, the captain had some announcements.

“Welcome to Trans Eastern Airways. It will be approximately two hours and forty-two minutes to EIA. There is a lot of chop, so I’m going to ask you to remain seated for most of this journey.”

The captain was right; it was a bumpy ride. No one came to offer Rick any drinks, food, or anything else. “I could use a drink,” he said to no one in particular.

“You and me both, brother. I brought my own supply,” said the large, older man seated next to him. He pulled out two small bottles of whiskey from his carry-on bag.

“You smuggled booze onto an airplane?”

“I have my ways. Sorry, no soda to mix it with. Bottoms up,” the man said as he downed the whiskey in one gulp. He passed the other bottle to Rick.

“Hello, everyone. This is your captain speaking. We need to divert due to a systems outage at EIA. We will be landing at Newport Regional instead.”

“That’s a three-hour drive from Newport—probably more in this mess,” Rick protested.

“Are you going to drink that?” the old man asked.

Rick shook his head, and then handed the small bottle back. The man consumed the whiskey faster than Rick thought was possible. The old man placed the small bottle in the seat back pocket in front of him, and then belched loudly.

Worst flight ever!