I’m 16 and just over six feet tall, which makes flying an absolute nightmare. My knees are always jammed into the seat in front of me. On a recent flight with my mom, the guy in front of me reclined his seat all the way back—right into my legs. And worse? His seat was broken, so it leaned farther than it should have. I politely asked him to adjust. He just shrugged and said, “I paid for this seat.”

The flight attendant noticed, but since he refused to move, she couldn’t do much. That’s when my mom, always the planner, handed me a snack—a bag of crunchy pretzels. A petty idea sparked. I munched loudly, letting crumbs fall onto his headrest. He kept brushing them off, clearly irritated. Then I “accidentally” sneezed with a mouthful of crumbs. That was the last straw.

Red-faced, he finally raised his seat. Instantly, I could breathe—and bend my legs. The flight attendant passed by again and gave me a tiny thumbs-up. Even my mom whispered, “Kind of mean… but genius.” The rest of the flight? Peaceful and way more comfortable.