So there I was, boarding yet another flight from New York to Los Angeles, hoping for a smooth, uneventful trip. As a 35-year-old marketing consultant, I travel a lot for work, so by now, I’ve got the whole airport and flight routine down.

This time, I was heading to a big conference in LA, with a super tight connection to San Diego for a pre-conference meeting. Everything was scheduled down to the minute, and I really couldn’t afford any delays.

I had everything planned out perfectly, even picking an aisle seat for a quick getaway. As I got to my row, I noticed the guy in the window seat was already settled in.

He looked like he was in his early 40s, radiating a kind of self-importance that was hard to ignore. He was dressed in a neatly pressed button-down, nice slacks, and shiny shoes. He kept checking his expensive watch, like he had someplace more important to be, and barely glanced up when I sat down.

No big deal, I thought. All I wanted was a quiet flight and maybe a few minutes to go over my notes for the San Diego meeting. Little did I know, this guy was about to turn my simple trip into a mini-nightmare.

Halfway through the flight, the attendants started serving dinner. I hadn’t eaten all day because I’d been so focused on prepping for the conference. By the time the meal service began, I was absolutely starving.

As soon as I smelled the food, my stomach growled, reminding me just how hungry I was. I couldn’t wait to eat, go over my notes, and maybe even sneak in a quick nap before landing.

But then nature called. I glanced down the aisle, hoping the food cart was still a few rows away. It was, so I figured I had just enough time for a quick restroom break. I excused myself, trying not to bother Mr. Important too much, and made my way to the back of the plane.

When I got to the restroom, I saw a line. Great, just what I needed! I checked my watch anxiously as the minutes ticked by, but the line barely moved. By the time it was finally my turn, I was practically tapping my foot with impatience. I knew the meal service had started, and I didn’t want to miss it.

When I finally made it back to my seat, I couldn’t believe what I saw: my meal tray was gone! And the guy next to me was sitting there, happily digging into his second meal!

“Uh, did they bring my meal while I was gone?” I asked, even though the answer was painfully obvious.

He looked up from his tray, a smug smile spreading across his face. “Oh, yeah. You were taking a while, so I figured you didn’t want it. Didn’t want it to go to waste.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. “You ate my meal?”

“Yeah,” he said, still chewing. “I was still hungry after mine, and you weren’t here. You can just grab something at the airport when we land.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d dealt with entitled people before, but this was on a whole new level. I stood there for a moment, completely speechless. Who does that?

“Are you serious right now?” I asked, mostly to myself, still hoping this was some kind of bizarre joke.

He just shrugged, totally unfazed. “Relax, it’s just airplane food.”

Feeling a mix of anger and disbelief, I hit the call button and asked the flight attendant if there were any meals left. She gave me an apologetic smile and said, “I’m so sorry, but we’ve run out of meals. Would you like some pretzels instead?”

Pretzels? That wasn’t exactly going to cut it, but what could I do? I took the tiny bag of pretzels, feeling defeated and increasingly annoyed at my seatmate’s sheer audacity.

Meanwhile, Mr. Important finished off both meals, leaned back in his seat, and promptly fell asleep, looking as satisfied as a cat that had just caught a mouse.