We've all been there, boarding the plane, passing through first class, glancing at the passengers lounging across six-foot wide cushions, snickering at the peasants stuck in the slums.

Sighing, I sauntered down to where the water drains and saw a medium-sized man in the window seat. I smiled, took the assigned middle one, and was about to buckle in when I looked up and gulped.

No, it wasn't Hamlet's ghost, or even his father's image. It was more like a three hundred, fifty pound woman dropping into the cushion beside me. All of her seat and a third of mine. She flicked up the armrest to get a better fit, and I had no choice but to cross my legs and lean to the left.

"I'll find another seat as soon as we take off," she said, as the flight attendant announced that the plane was overbooked on our cross country sojourn from Florida to L.A.

Scrunching portside, I mumbled my apologies to the man, but every time I tried to straighten, I collided into a steel-like abyss of fat cells.

The only relief was getting up for the bathroom. Once there the seat was cozy, roomy, almost like an inflight La-Z-boy. I stayed for awhile stretching my legs, thinking I should've brought my Ipod and a snack when the attendant knocked on the door and asked if there was a problem.

There was.

Walking out, I explained the situation. She was sorry, but there was nothing she could do.

(Big surprise).

Since then Southwest Airlines and Australia's Jetstar have ordered grossly obese passengers to purchase two seats. In February, after Jetstar forced a woman to do so, she found that her seats were rows apart!

Today I don't care if the company has a policy or not. I'll remain in the aisle and demand what I paid for--the entire width of a bridge chair with an inch of leg room to boot.