In the air, as in life, it's generally wise to abide by the rules of karma: Be nice to others, and hopefully, when you need a favor or find yourself at the whim of the kindness of strangers, someone will help you out. It's one thing to let someone scoot ahead of you in the boarding line, or to help another passenger lift his massive carry-on into the overhead bin. But how far is too far—if there even is such a thing? Should you really be expected to give up your seat to a couple who wants to sit together but didn't book (or check-in) on time, and therefore is stuck in two different rows? Or what about the business traveler who couldn't get an aisle seat, but really dislikes sitting by the window, and oh dear, would you...would you mind?
As with many great debates, Condé Nast Traveler writers and contributors have different opinions on the matter. Read on, and then decide for yourself: To get up, or not to get up?
Don't Budge
I am a courteous person. I hold open doors with a smile, slow down to let cars merge ahead of me, and never hesitate to give up a seat for anyone in need on a train or bus. But give up my seat on a plane? That’s a different story. And I’m not talking about getting bumped off a flight, but about being asked by a fellow passenger who wants to sit next to his wife/friend/business partner to give up my seat—often a seat that I’ve hunted down and snatched up after weeks of revisiting my reservation online—in exchange for another seat elsewhere on that big scary bird.
See, before you ask me if I’m willing to move, you should know that I’m not trying to be a jerk. I’m just a nervous flyer, thanks to a past flight in which my plane was struck by lightening. It’s taken me years to figure out my sweet spot on a plane, and I get very strategic about sitting there in order to stay calm and cool (hint: It’s not in the back of the plane, where turbulence is often roughest). But even if I wasn’t a nervous flyer, economy seats are no longer one in the same, nor do they translate to even-steven swaps. Seat guru tells us so, long-haul flights prove it true, and, lately, the price of the increasingly prevalent premium economy seat attaches a real cost to the difference.
I would no sooner give up my seat in Row A for a seat in Row T at a concert venue than I would give up my paid-for premium economy seat for one that backs up to the bathroom. There is one thing, though, that makes me cave: Doe-eyed children who would otherwise be separated from their parents. Sigh. The seat's all yours, kid. —Nina Kokotas Hahn
Have a Seat
Living in Manhattan, I'm constantly surrounded by people—for better or worse—and do my best to be a (reasonably) nice, (reasonably) courteous person on an island with millions of inhabitants. If I see a pregnant woman, senior, or young child standing on a packed subway, I get up. I don't always want to get up, but it's the right thing to do, and in a small way, I feel like I'm doing my part as a human being. Is it the most profound gesture? Of course not. But every now and then, we just need someone to say, Don't worry, I got you.
I fly often, but I do not—have never—enjoyed it. I don't like heights. I don't like cramped spaces. I don't like not being in control. When the seatbelt light goes on, you can bet your bag of complimentary pretzels that I am strapped into that seat like I'm on a spaceship ready for launch. Maybe because it's a slightly miserable experience for me, I'm extra empathetic to other passengers. (We all might all die in a fiery crash together, after all. I kid! Sort of.) So if a couple wants to hold hands during a flight, or a parent wants to have all of his kids sitting in a row, I have no problem moving seats, even if it's further back in the plane.
This behavior, by the way, has come with its rewards. On a flight from Miami to New York, a couple traveling with their child was in a panic because they hadn't been able to book three seats in a row, and economy was sold out. I offered up my aisle seat, and volunteered to sit in a middle seat they had been forced to book due to a lack of options. A minute after I squeezed into my new spot, a flight attendant came and grabbed my carry-on out of the overhead bin. "Come with me," he said, gesturing to the front of the plane. I enjoyed a first-class flight home. Karma is real, folks. —Caitlin Moscatello
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