You’re one hour into the redeye from San Diego to Chicago. It’s a cramped, noisy, and bumpy flight. You’re stuck in 27B, center seat. The person on your left, in the window seat, has spent most of the evening in a bar or the smoking lounge from the smell of it. The person on your right, obviously a non-frequent flier, has stuffed a huge duffle bag partially under her seat --it has bulged out to take over most of your leg room—and now she’s spread open the New York Times and has violated your private space by at least 8 inches.

Never mind. It was a long day and the airport hotdog dinner is starting to settle down.  You make yourself as small as possible.  Stretch out as much as possible, close your eyes and hope, not only can you catch a few winks, but when you wake up neither of your new companions will have their head on your shoulder.

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