The trip to San Diego is underway. They changed out the plane that the non-stop flight was supposed to have with a smaller one, and all the seat assignments were scrambled. So my window seat became a middle seat.

There's something terrible about being forced to sit in a middle seat on an airplane. It's simply because you have no control over anything. You have no control over the window shades. You have no control over the aisle. You are simply stuck there at the mercy of two strangers, probably blinded by the evil dayball and, if you're like me and have consumed much in the way of coffee, feeling bad about having to excuse yourself every five minutes to go and relieve your walnut-sized bladder.

At least these strangers didn't talk. There is comfort in that.