Kids these days! (are assholes)

The other day I flew from Atlanta to Honolulu on Delta. I selected my seat at the kiosk during check-in, 20B, an aisle seat with just a window seat next to it. I prefer aisle seats, especially during long flights, so I can pee when I need to without having to essentially ask permission from some (perhaps sleeping) other traveler. Also, I could give a crap what's outside the window most of the time. The only real advantage I find in a window seat is the ability to lean against the fuselage, and of course, anything is better than a middle seat. But I digress.

Upon taking my seat I was gratified to find that my neighbor was an unaccompanied minor - an 11-year-old girl who, presumably, wouldn't overflow into my personal space, hit on me, or smell. I was wrong on two of those counts, but that's not the point. I settled in. I'm re-reading Lolita, which, along with USA Today and my iPod, I carefully placed in the seatback pocket in front of me. My plan was to eat the hot meal, then pop half a Stillnox (the German over-the-counter equivalent of Ambien), and spend the remainder of the 9-hour flight unconscious and wrapped in my pashmina.

The girl next to me was called Devin but Devilish Bitch-child would've been a more appropriate moniker. Oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself. At first I was just mildly irritated with her incessant prattling, nonsensical observations and so forth. When I attempted to drown her out by listening to my iPod, she was hardly dissuaded from tapping me on the arm so I'd pause it and listen to whatever dumb shit she was saying. Plus, she'd commandeered the armrest between us and occasionally brushed up against me while flailing about inexplicably in her seat. I'll admit that I was grumpier than usual from getting up at 5:30 a.m. to catch my flight out of Charleston that morning.

Then, after we'd eaten, and the remnants of our meals sat on the tray tables in front of us, she expressed a desire to get up so she could get some crap out of her bag (which latered turned out to be a coloring book). I said, "Why don't you wait until they take away the trash?" as the trays were effectively pinning us in our seats and God knows where she expected they'd go if we both stood up. A moment or two later - "I know where we could put the trash..." to which I replied, "In the carts, when they come collect them?" Perhaps seven or eight seconds went by, and she started impatiently jabbing the call button in rapid succession: Dingdingdingdingdingdingding!

Exasperated, I sharply said something along the lines of, "Look, the flight attendants are working right now. They are not your servants."

Whoa. Big fucking mistake. As good as it felt to snap at her, I was soon to regret it.

After our trays were collected and I'd hauled her really fucking heavy and massive suitcase out of the overhead bin and she'd taken her sweet time to dig through its every outer pocket, I got comfy, donned earplugs and an eyemask, and dozed off.

A couple of times during my drugged out slumber, I felt her clamber over my lap, I assume on her way to the lavatory. Fading in an out of a consciousness permeated by the excited jabber of vacationers, I was asleep for approximately four hours. I awoke to a persistent tapping on my left arm (thinking, "this better be a fucking evacuation"). Yeah, she'd woken me up so that in case I needed, oh, four hours to fill out my entry form into Hawaii, I'd be all set. Great.

I filled out the form, responding to her renewed chattering with monosyballic grunts when I glanced in front of me and noticed.. USA Today...Lolita.......and no iPod.

Of course, she took it. Obviously. I mean, who would walk by someone on a plane, pause when they saw an iPod, check to ensure she was indeed sleeping, then reach and grab it from its spot two inches in front of her left knee? No one, that's who.

First, I tried the casual approach. "Hey, were you listening to my iPod, by any chance?" Flat denial. "Okay, this isn't funny. Give me my iPod back." Still, she refused to admit that she'd taken it. Still, I tried to pump her for information. "Do you think you could have knocked it out of the pocket when you got up?" which of course I didn't think was possible. I knew the little brat had simply taken it. But she shrugged, "I don't know" and gave me the unblinking blue stare that you've learned to give your parents by that age when you're lying through your teeth.

Playing devil's advocate, I had the flight attendants make an announcement, and my kind neighbors who were awake participated in the crawling around on the floor searching for the elusive iPod. The vile little brat simply lifted her stinky, flip-flop clad feet so that I could look under them.

The search died down when it didn't produce any results, and gradually the flight attendants and other passengers lost interest. I sat there seething. My lovely $250 iPod Nano I'd gotten for my 25th birthday, along with its $30 case, neither of which I could presently afford to replace, gone missing due to the whim of a nasty little girl.

I realized that she'd never admit to taking it and that the only way to get it back would be to make her feel sorry for me. I squeezed out a few tears as I looked sadly at the empty seatback pocket, which wasn't difficult, as I was pretty close to full-fledged crying anyway. Hey, I'm not materialistic, but I really love my iPod, okay?

Then, to win her over, I chatted with her about whatever shit she had to say (example: "Me and my mom and my grandma...all have at least two charm bracelets. I can't see the water! Why can't I see the water? My third grade teacher had four cats." etc.) and learned her family was rather dysfunctional, as her mother was in the process of divorcing her 22-year-old stepfather, but I was far from pitying her, rather, I felt at this point that she deserved having a crappy home life.

Anyway, it worked like a charm. She got up to go to the bathroom, and lo and behold, when she returned she was clutching my iPod. Her lame explanation? "I was looking for paper towels and I opened something and I saw this!" I snatched it back, my neighboring passengers (who apparently had suspected her as well, all along) rolled their eyes, and I let her believe that I believed her stupid story while maintaining a death-grip on the thing.

I so wanted to tell her I knew she did it, to say, "Hey, you little bitch. You better watch your fucking back, because I'm crazy and I'm going to come kill you," but really, what good would that have done (other than the thrill it would have given me to be really mean to her)? Clearly, she was a sad little soul who, from the looks of her, had obesity and lots of failed attempts to make up for her subsequent lack of self-esteem to look forward to. So one day, when you're fat and disillusioned, remember, little girl, wherever you are, that no matter how much you steal from people, no one will ever love you.