So there I was on standby at the airport to catch a flight home from San Diego last weekend. I got the spot on the earlier flight, then moved slowly onto the already loaded plane. I see the one seat left on the plane. It's in the center of a row of three. The guy in the window seat has already lifted up the armrest to claim the space he needs. I'll call him, Big Guy. He's got one of those basketball jersey type tank tops on, with some Dickies shorts......that are, you know, the baggy, cool kind. He's probably 35. He's about 6' 4" and easily 300+ lbs. The guy on the aisle, white t-shirt, plaid shorts, baseball cap, and barely takes up half of his seat. I'll call him Cool Kid. I can tell Big might be nervous about who will sit in the center seat. Cool is just hoping whoever sits there won't rub up against him. I put my stuff up in the overhead bin, and scoot into the center seat. I notice that Big stops breathing, as to not take up any more space. As I sit down, and reach for my seatbelt, I tap Big on the leg, and say, "Could you scoot over please? Just kidding!" He laughed. Turns out, he's a foreman for an ashphalt company, has a couple of kids, likes Jack and Coke, couldn't believe he barely fit in the lavatory, and has big concerns about how you just can't let your kids run around in the neighborhood anymore, like we did when we were growing up.