I boarded my eight-hour flight from London to New York, ready to sleep after a grueling swimming competition. I settled in, hoping to rest, but the woman next to me, “Karen,” had other plans.

From the start, she complained loudly about being cramped. She pressed the call button multiple times, demanding the flight attendants move either me or the woman in the window seat. She made the flight unbearable, kicking, elbowing, and ranting about her discomfort.

Hours passed, and I was beyond exhausted. Karen’s tantrums continued, and the flight attendants could do little to calm her down. When we landed, Karen jumped up, ignoring the seatbelt sign and heading for the front.

Then the captain’s voice came over the intercom: “We have a special guest onboard today.” Karen, assuming he meant her, puffed up with pride. However, the captain stopped by our row and, with a grin, announced, “Our special guest is sitting in 42C.”

Laughter erupted across the plane as Karen’s face turned red. Humiliated, she sat down as the captain returned to the front. I leaned back, finally able to smile.

“That,” I said, “was worth the eight hours of torture.” As we exited the plane, the window-seat woman chuckled, “Let’s hope we never see her again.”

I laughed, feeling relief as we walked away from the chaos.