Three hours into a packed flight, something damp brushed the top of my hair.
I reached up automatically.
At first, I thought somebody’s blanket had slipped over my seat.
Then I smelled it.
Imagine a gym locker that had been locked since Thanksgiving.
Now imagine somebody warming it in a microwave.
I slowly turned my head.
Two socks hung over the top of my seat.
They had probably been white once.
The soles were gray-brown, the heels were nearly black, and the fabric around the toes looked suspiciously damp.
One sock was dangling about four inches from my face.
The other had apparently decided my hair was a drying rack.
I stared at them.
Surely not.
I turned around.
The man behind me was barefoot, wearing headphones and scrolling through his phone.
His feet were stretched beneath the seat in front of him.
My seat.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Are those your socks?”
He glanced up.
“Obviously.”
“Could you take them down?”
“They’re wet.”
“I can smell that.”
Across the aisle, a woman looked over and wrinkled her nose.
The man shrugged.
“That’s why they’re there. They need to dry.”
“Not beside my head.”
“Then lean forward.”
I blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
“Lean forward, lady. Problem solved!”
“This is my seat.”
“And those are my socks. You’ll survive!”
He put his headphones back on.
I sat facing forward for several seconds.
I was 42 years old.
I’d survived a broken washing machine, two teenagers, and a neighbor who practiced the trumpet at seven every morning.
But nothing had prepared me for a grown man treating my headrest like his backyard clothesline.
I didn’t know his name.
So I privately promoted him to “Captain Compost.”
I pressed the flight attendant call button.
A few minutes later, a woman wearing a navy uniform stopped beside me.
“How can I help?”
I pointed over my shoulder.
“There’s a laundry situation.”
She leaned forward.
Then she saw the socks.
Her professional smile disappeared for approximately half a second.
“Sir?”
Captain Compost removed one headphone.
“What?”
“Those need to stay in your own space.”
“They’re drying.”
“Then you’ll need to find somewhere else to keep them.”
He looked offended.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s a six-hour flight.”
“I’m aware.”
He snatched the socks down.
“Unbelievable.”
The attendant waited until both socks disappeared below the seatback.
“Thank you,” I said.
She turned to me.
“Is there anything else you need?”
“A new nose would be lovely.”
She pressed her lips together.
“I’ll see what I can do about some water.”
I thanked her.
The woman across the aisle gave me a sympathetic smile.
Beside her sat a teenage girl wearing a purple sweatshirt.
The girl whispered something to her mother.
Her mother shook her head.
I settled back and restarted my movie.
Crisis over.
Or so I thought.
Ten minutes later, something cold grazed my neck.
I froze.
Then I reached behind my head.
Fabric.
Damp fabric.
I turned around slowly.
The socks were back.
Lower this time.
Captain Compost was watching me through the gap between the seats.
He smiled.
“Still wet.”
I stared at him.
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Get over yourself.”
“She just told you to remove them.”
“She told me to keep them in my space.”
“That’s my space.”
He pointed toward the seatback.
“Technically, that’s the back of the seat in front of me.”
I looked at him.
“You’re hanging them over the top.”
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing, lady.”
He pulled his headphones over his ears.
Then he reclined.
Within minutes, he was snoring.
I sat there, trying to decide whether calling the flight attendant again would solve anything or simply give him another opportunity to be obnoxious.
The teenage girl across the aisle caught my eye.
“That’s disgusting,” she whispered.
Her mother leaned toward me.
“I’d lose my mind.”
“I’m considering it,” I muttered.
The girl giggled.
Her mother gave her a warning look.
“Don’t encourage anybody.”
“I haven’t done anything,” I said.
“Yet,” the girl whispered.
I looked at her.
She smiled innocently.
For the next half hour, those socks swung behind my head whenever the plane shifted.
One brushed my hair again.
I moved forward.
Then I got annoyed with myself for moving forward.
I’d paid for a seat, not a supervised visit to somebody’s laundry room.
I tried reading.
I tried watching my movie.
I even considered putting my jacket over the top of the seat as a barrier.
But the thought of letting those smelly socks touch my jacket was worse.
The passenger beside me, an older gentleman with a crossword puzzle, glanced over.
“Everything all right?”
“Someone’s drying his socks behind my head.”
He looked up.
Saw them.
Then quietly returned to his crossword.
I couldn’t blame him.
There wasn’t a clue in that puzzle that could explain this situation.
A little later, the flight attendant passed down the aisle.
I almost called her over.
But Captain Compost was asleep, and I was tired of having to ask someone else to enforce basic manners.
I told myself I’d wait another minute.
Then the snack cart appeared.
“Something to drink?” the attendant asked.
“Sparkling water, please.”
“Anything else?”
I glanced at the cart.
Packets of pretzels.
Cookies.
Small stacks of paper napkins.
And suddenly I had an idea.
“Actually, could I have two extra napkins?”
“Of course.”
She handed them over.
I took my drink and set it on the tray table.
Then I opened my purse.
Inside was a black pen.
I always carried one because I still liked doing crossword puzzles on paper.
Beside it were two tiny clear zip pouches I used to keep earrings and other small things from disappearing into my purse.
I looked over my shoulder.
Captain Compost was sleeping with his mouth open.
One headphone had slipped down around his neck.
His socks were still hanging behind me.
The teenage girl noticed the pen.
Her eyebrows rose.
I smiled.
She leaned slightly into the aisle to see what I was doing.
I flattened the first napkin on my tray.
Then I wrote something.
I folded it carefully.
On the second napkin, I wrote another message.
The teenager pressed a hand over her mouth.
Her mother looked up.
“What?”
The girl pointed discreetly.
Her mother leaned over just far enough to read what I’d written.
She turned toward the window.
Her shoulders began shaking.
“Oh,” she whispered. “That is perfect.”
I glanced behind me again.
Still snoring.
The plane was flying smoothly.
I folded each napkin into a narrow strip, slipped it into a clear pouch, and pressed the seal shut.
Then I reached up to the sock cuffs hanging over my head and tucked one pouch beneath the rolled edge of each cuff, with the writing facing inward.
The plastic was thin enough to stay hidden and would keep the damp fabric from smearing the ink.
No tape, no glue, and nothing that could damage the socks.
I was finished in seconds.
Then I sat back and picked up my sparkling water.
The teenager stared at me.
I raised one finger to my lips.
She nodded so enthusiastically that her mother had to look away again.
I returned to my movie.
For the first time in nearly an hour, I was actually interested in what happened next.
Twenty minutes passed.
Captain Compost snored through most of them.
Then he woke with a snort loud enough to make his seatmate flinch.
He stretched.
Yawned.
And reached over the top of my seat.
I watched the teenage girl out of the corner of my eye.
She was watching him.
He pulled down the first sock.
Then the second.
I heard him shifting behind me.
A moment later, his bare foot appeared briefly beside the aisle.
He was putting the socks on.
The teenager pressed both hands over her mouth.
I looked straight ahead.
There was a rustle of fabric.
A pause.
Then another.
“WHAT ON EARTH?”
I didn’t move.
Behind me, something scraped against the floor.
Captain Compost shot upright.
“What is this?”
The teenage girl made a strange squeaking noise.
Her mother handed her a napkin.
Not one of mine.
A clean one.
Then came the shout.
“WHO DID THIS?!”
Several passengers turned around.
I slowly looked over my shoulder.
Captain Compost was standing in the aisle, his face bright red.
Both socks were on his feet.
As he’d pulled the socks on, the two clear pouches had slipped upward.
The white notes inside now stuck out above his ankles like luggage tags.
He pulled the first one free.
Then the second.
He stared at them.
“What kind of sick joke is this?”
I blinked.
“Is something wrong?”
He took the napkins out of the pouches and waved them.
“Somebody put these in my socks!”
The teenager made another strangled noise.
I tilted my head.
“Oh. I wondered when you’d collect those.”
His mouth fell open.
Then he thrust the first napkin toward me.
“Did you write this?”
I looked at it.
The message was perfectly legible.
LEFT SOCK: PUBLIC NUISANCE.
He shook the second napkin.
RIGHT SOCK: FINAL WARNING.
The teenage girl bent forward, laughing silently into her sleeve.
Captain Compost pointed at me.
“You touched my socks!”
I set down my water.
“Yes.”
He looked startled that I’d admitted it.
“After you hung them over my head a second time,” I added.
“You had no right!”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have touched them.”
He opened his mouth triumphantly.
Then I added, “And you shouldn’t have put them there.”
His face darkened.
“I’m reporting you.”
“All right.”
“I mean it, lady!”
“I heard you.”
He jabbed the flight attendant call button.
The teenage girl whispered, “Oh, this is going to be good.”
Her mother whispered back, “Please don’t make it worse.”
But Captain Compost was already holding both napkins above his head.
And when the flight attendant approached, he practically shoved them toward her.
“LOOK WHAT THIS WOMAN DID TO MY SOCKS!”
The attendant glanced at the messages.
Then at me.
Then at his feet.
Her expression became very still.
“Sir,” she said, “are these the socks I asked you to remove earlier?”
Captain Compost hesitated.
“Yes. But that’s not the point!”
The flight attendant looked at the napkins again.
“Were the socks hanging over the seat after I asked you to remove them?”
He shifted his weight.
“They were still wet.”
“Sir, that’s not what I asked.”
The teenage girl across the aisle buried her face in her mother’s shoulder.
Captain Compost pointed at me.
“She put things inside my clothes!”
“I tucked two sealed notes into the cuffs,” I said. “I shouldn’t have touched his belongings. I understand that.”
The attendant nodded.
“Thank you for acknowledging that.”
Then she faced him.
“And you need to keep your belongings within your own seating area. I won’t be asking again.”
He stared at her.
“So she gets away with it?”
“Both of you have been instructed to respect each other’s space.”
He looked down at the napkins.
Finally, he crumpled the papers.
“Ridiculous.”
He dropped into his seat.
I turned forward.
And then the man sitting beside him removed his headphones.
“Wait,” he said. “Those were your socks?”
Captain Compost frowned.
“Yes. Why?”
His seatmate looked at the socks.
Then at my headrest.
“I thought something was wrong with the air-conditioning.”
The teenager made a noise like a bicycle tire losing air.
Her mother covered her own mouth.
I stared at my tray table.
Captain Compost looked from one face to another.
“What?”
Nobody answered.
His seatmate quietly put his headphones back on.
The flight attendant returned a few minutes later.
“Can I get you anything else, ma’am?”
She offered me a fresh napkin.
I looked at it.
Then I looked at the man behind me, who was now angrily pulling on his shoes.
“No, thank you,” I said. “I think we’re finished with the laundry.”
The attendant’s mouth twitched.
“Very good.”
She continued down the aisle.
The teenage girl gave me a discreet thumbs-up.
I smiled and restarted my movie.
Captain Compost kept his shoes on for the rest of the flight.
Nobody complained about the air-conditioning again.
When we landed, I stood to retrieve my carry-on.
Captain Compost was waiting behind me in the aisle.
He gave me a long, furious look.
I smiled politely.
“Have a nice evening.”
He didn’t answer.
His shoes were on.
His socks were nowhere in sight.
That was good enough for me.
At the aircraft door, the teenage girl and her mother were waiting for the line to move.
The girl turned around.
“Hope your next flight’s better.”
I adjusted the strap of my bag.
“I’ll settle for less laundry.”
She burst out laughing.
Her mother shook her head, smiling.
I stepped into the terminal and smoothed the hair those socks had brushed.
Then I headed toward baggage claim, grateful that my luggage was the only thing I’d have to collect.
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