The lady in the middle seat who "unpacks" a week's worth of crap as soon as she gets seated. She's got her overstuffed, bloated purse on her lap, ready to explode. A neck pillow is somehow stretched around her large neck. She's got a blanket draped over her shoulders, and a sleep mask on her forehead - at the ready. Her tray table is already set up with drinks, snacks, and a romance novel. Her headphones are plugged into the back-seat TV, and she's playing Words with Friends on her phone, while scrolling the infotainment menu on the headrest, and occasionally feeding Cheetos to her yapper dog that is somehow living on the floor beneath her pile of crap.

When you have the audacity to say, "Excuse me, ma'am, I have the window seat", she looks up at you in disgust, breathes heavy, and starts trying to gather up her clutter. Standing behind you in the aisle, you can feel the impatience building as it seems YOU are the one holding up the boarding process. But there you stand, helpless, as she tries to strategize a plan to re-pack part of her belongings and clear a path to the window. Five minutes later, you've managed to climb over all her junk and you're finally in your seat, pressed against the window, ready for takeoff and the 70-minute flight to Denver.