I feel like some of my greatest contributions to civil society are made on the airplane.
During boarding, the typical passenger is unpacking his things or distractedly reading through a People Magazine and doing his best to relax. I, on the other hand, am anything but relaxed. I know that something is wrong. I can sense it. And I'll be damned if I'm going to just sit back and do nothing.
I am perfectly still in my seat and my senses have kicked into high gear. Like an unseen tiger stalking his prey from the dark jungle, I am watching and waiting for my opportunity.
Suddenly I see it. A man 3 rows up is making motions to a woman seated next to me. His voice is barely audible, but he begins to mouth some words. "Do you think we can find someone to switch with us?" he says. I see fear in his eyes. He is weak-willed and confused. Perhaps he and his significant other are wearing matching outfits. I've seen enough.
I heroically jump into action, nearly tripping over myself to be the first to the rescue. "I will be the man to make that sacrifice," I say in a booming voice, rising from my seat, basking in the awe of my fellow passengers. We make the switch, exchanging pleasantries, and I accept the couple's gushing gratitude with a quick, self-deprecating wave of my hand. The Iowan in me has diverted disaster once again.
Do I ask for the same selflessness out of others? Never. Nor would I expect others to offer it up gratuitously. Not only do I feel perfectly comfortable spending two hours on my own in the big, bad airplane, but the risk of awkward rejection usually prevents me from acting.
That being said, my flight to Phoenix was a real eye opener. Let me set the scene.
I am seated about 5 rows ahead of my girlfriend. There are three people in my row. In fact, there appear to be three people in every row on the plane except one: my girlfriend's row. She is seated next to the window and another woman is seated in an aisle seat, leaving an open seat in between them.
During boarding, the typical passenger is unpacking his things or distractedly reading through a People Magazine and doing his best to relax. I, on the other hand, am anything but relaxed. I know that something is wrong. I can sense it. And I'll be damned if I'm going to just sit back and do nothing.
I am perfectly still in my seat and my senses have kicked into high gear. Like an unseen tiger stalking his prey from the dark jungle, I am watching and waiting for my opportunity.
Suddenly I see it. A man 3 rows up is making motions to a woman seated next to me. His voice is barely audible, but he begins to mouth some words. "Do you think we can find someone to switch with us?" he says. I see fear in his eyes. He is weak-willed and confused. Perhaps he and his significant other are wearing matching outfits. I've seen enough.
I heroically jump into action, nearly tripping over myself to be the first to the rescue. "I will be the man to make that sacrifice," I say in a booming voice, rising from my seat, basking in the awe of my fellow passengers. We make the switch, exchanging pleasantries, and I accept the couple's gushing gratitude with a quick, self-deprecating wave of my hand. The Iowan in me has diverted disaster once again.
Do I ask for the same selflessness out of others? Never. Nor would I expect others to offer it up gratuitously. Not only do I feel perfectly comfortable spending two hours on my own in the big, bad airplane, but the risk of awkward rejection usually prevents me from acting.
That being said, my flight to Phoenix was a real eye opener. Let me set the scene.
I am seated about 5 rows ahead of my girlfriend. There are three people in my row. In fact, there appear to be three people in every row on the plane except one: my girlfriend's row. She is seated next to the window and another woman is seated in an aisle seat, leaving an open seat in between them.
Perfect, I think. I won't even have to ask anyone to move in order to take the open seat. As it becomes clear that no one else will be boarding, I rise and begin to make my way back to the open seat. Emily, out of courtesy, says to the woman in the aisle seat, "Do you mind if my boyfriend sits here?" The woman, who, it should be emphasized, has not been asked to sacrifice her seat, simply rolls her eyes and looks the other direction. Though this is done without my knowledge, Emily whispers it into my ear during the flight.
Part of me wishes she hadn't told me this en route. It made the rest of the flight vaguely awkward and it forced me to spend a significant amount of time thinking about the ethics behind our behavior. Does this woman have a claim? Surely she didn't purchase the seat in between her and Emily did she? Was there a husband (perhaps tired of her standoffishness) who failed to show? Possible, but unlikely. And if that was the case, why not say something?
For a moment, I try to empathize with her. She had something of value, a buffer seat in between her and a stranger. Now she does not. So in a sense, she has a right to be a little indignant. This is assuming of course that we think of the buffer seat as being "her's" to begin with. Regardless, I think her behavior is extremely short-sighted. She would do well to look at the big picture.
Though she may have lost something of value, someone else further up the plane has gained something of equal value when I got up. In fact, since I was also in a middle seat, the open seat that I left actually conferred a benefit upon two people. So already we have a net gain of 1 unit of happiness/comfort.
But of course, the equation doesn't stop there. The happiness that I will derive from being next to my girlfriend who is super awesome and makes me laugh a lot also has value. There's another unit of happiness. Emily, will also derive happiness from the transaction, but the quantity of happiness will be less than me for two reasons: 1) I am not as cool as her 2) She had a buffer seat and now does not have a buffer seat. Let's say she gets 1/2 of what I get out of the deal. In all 5 people are affected by the transaction. Here's the rough calculus:
Happiness of woman who lost buffer seat: -1
Happiness of woman who gained buffer seat: +1
Happiness of woman 2 who gained a buffer seat: +1
Nick's happiness: +1
Emily's happiness: +1/2
Part of me wishes she hadn't told me this en route. It made the rest of the flight vaguely awkward and it forced me to spend a significant amount of time thinking about the ethics behind our behavior. Does this woman have a claim? Surely she didn't purchase the seat in between her and Emily did she? Was there a husband (perhaps tired of her standoffishness) who failed to show? Possible, but unlikely. And if that was the case, why not say something?
For a moment, I try to empathize with her. She had something of value, a buffer seat in between her and a stranger. Now she does not. So in a sense, she has a right to be a little indignant. This is assuming of course that we think of the buffer seat as being "her's" to begin with. Regardless, I think her behavior is extremely short-sighted. She would do well to look at the big picture.
Though she may have lost something of value, someone else further up the plane has gained something of equal value when I got up. In fact, since I was also in a middle seat, the open seat that I left actually conferred a benefit upon two people. So already we have a net gain of 1 unit of happiness/comfort.
But of course, the equation doesn't stop there. The happiness that I will derive from being next to my girlfriend who is super awesome and makes me laugh a lot also has value. There's another unit of happiness. Emily, will also derive happiness from the transaction, but the quantity of happiness will be less than me for two reasons: 1) I am not as cool as her 2) She had a buffer seat and now does not have a buffer seat. Let's say she gets 1/2 of what I get out of the deal. In all 5 people are affected by the transaction. Here's the rough calculus:
Happiness of woman who lost buffer seat: -1
Happiness of woman who gained buffer seat: +1
Happiness of woman 2 who gained a buffer seat: +1
Nick's happiness: +1
Emily's happiness: +1/2
Net gain of happiness: 2 1/2
Invisible hand anyone? Sure my initial act was selfish, but look at all the excess happiness that one act of selfishness generated. Invisible or not, does this woman sitting next to me really not see this equation?
Invisible hand anyone? Sure my initial act was selfish, but look at all the excess happiness that one act of selfishness generated. Invisible or not, does this woman sitting next to me really not see this equation?
And in reality, my estimate of a simple 2.5 u/h gain is, if anything, conservative. For example, with all that surplus happiness floating around in the fuselage, it's pretty likely to cheer up the flight attendants. A couple extra smiles here, a couple extra thank yous there. You get the picture. The flight attendants interact with the captain (I think), which means he/she might be happier too. A happier captain means a less depressed captain, which means less chance of the captain flying off the handle and dive-bombing into a Kansas cornfield.
As is clearly illustrated above, I simply cannot overstate the amount of people that could stand to gain from this move.
Like I said, I empathize with her plight. Without the proper safety nets in place to ease her suffering (passenger subsidized pillows, on board nurse, entertainment, food, a place to sit), the invisible hand stops being just invisible and begins to disappear altogether. But in my situation, when the happiness of the entire plane is taken into account, and the safety nets are in place, switching seats is undeniably the best way to go.
I think about explaining these numbers to her but don't want the rest of the flight to be more awkward than it already is. As a concession to my own ego, I resolve to make my calculations known to her in the event that we begin plummeting to our deaths.
Though part of me is quietly hoping for a mid-flight disaster, so that I can give this woman a pre-death lecture on civility and collective happiness, we land without incident. And I think of how sad it is that she will think it was a horrible flight. She might even start lobbying her local carrier to prohibit this type of activity, ultimately affecting all flight passengers, possibly even herself, in all sorts of adverse ways in the future.
And if you just listened to her side of the story, you'd never believe that from the time that flight took off to the time it landed, that very same flight she thought was so horrible had actually experienced a huge 2.5 unit surge in happiness. And what's more? It was all due to the selfish, happiness-generating acts of one humble person.
Is there any flight I can't make happy?
Is there any flight I can't make happy?
