---
title: "The View through the Airplane Window"
date: 2023-11-07T17:34:55-07:00
description: "Why do they make me choose a seat? What happens if I don't?"
tags: ["travel", "thoughts"]
showTableOfContents: true
weight: 1
type: "post"
---

I fly fairly frequently from where I live now to my hometown. It's a convenient trip because there
are two conveniently located mini-boss sized airports close to both places. The (un)fortunate thing
about mini-boss sized airports is that they only attract the budget airline offerings. When you
purchase flights through these low-spec'd airlines, they try and swindle you by charging you for
making choices, like do you want to bring any bags? How about choose a seat to sit in the plane?
At first, I thought choosing a seat was part of the fare: these slippery execs won't let me fly unless
I have a boarding pass AND a seat ticket! I've learned however, that it is a false choice.

I take the high (cheap) road and choose nothing, which means they pick a seat for me. Which means I
sit above the turbines every flight, my window looks out at the wing.
I am led to believe that these mid-range seats are picked
least often, so I wonder, why are these seats of no apparent distinguishing quality least often 
selected by the 'selectors'? If you want seats closer to the front, but dont want to front the bill,
you're in luck! Selecting the back of the plane is more expensive than not choosing a seat, and your
odds have to be impossibly better that you'll sit closer to the front by abstaining from seat selection.

But I'm not complaining, nor do I wish people would have different airline decision-making habits.
I feel privileged to sit in view of the wing: I watch it move a surprising amount during flights, which
could very well be troubling to the anxious or weary traveler, but to me, I find it satisfying. I
watch the slightest shift of an aeleron send the whole plane in a calculated, soft roll. I imagine
my arm as the wing: extending out the side of the plane. It reminds me of sticking my hand out the
window while driving to feel the force of the wind against my palm, turning a once invisible
everpresent essence into a carvable, ridable rush of energy. Watching the wing wobble a bit gives
the plane a little more mortality, I feel a little more of the rush and terror of flight.

So thank you, mini-boss C-suite for giving me the view through the window everytime I fly without a seat.
