Ah, the aisle seat.
At church on Sundays, Dad had to have the seat. It is the seat for the king, the leader, the head of the home. At least, that’s what it felt like as a kid.
At this conference, the aisle seats are the first seats filled. I have entered session after session to find all the aisle seats taken while pockets of empty chairs wait for someone’s buns in the middle of each row. In exchange for the “excuse me, woops, sorry” as folks squeeze pass knees and smartphones and bags, these attendees get a post at the coveted aisle seat.
As in … I’ll have a route out if last night’s cough starts up again.
Or, I’ll make a quick dash to the front to talk to the editor after the Q & A.
Or, I’ll be free to walk out when Potential Employer calls.
Or, I’ll feel less claustrophobic over here, where I can stretch my legs, then there, between the lady with the leather bag and the man typing on his iPad.
Or, I’ll leave if this session sucks.
Whatever their reasons for wanting the aisle seat, I crawl over to get in and let them deal it when I decide to crawl back out.
One sweet anecdote brought to you by the letter I in the A to Z Challenge for the month of April. Thanks for reading. Scroll past the social media buttons to share a story or to comment on this post.