Whenever I politely asked him to move, he mocked my size.
“Come on, lady. You’re tiny. You don’t need all that room.”
I was sixty-one years old, barely five feet two, and had spent most of my life trying to avoid unnecessary arguments.
But when that man finally got up to use the restroom, I made a decision he never expected.
By the time he returned, I was sitting somewhere else.
He stopped in the aisle, stared at my empty seat, and turned bright red.
Then he spotted me two rows behind him.
**“What the hell did you do?!”**
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