The woman flopped down in the empty seat next to me, on the aisle. “I guess I’ll sit here,” she said. “The line is just too long.”

Sure, make yourself comfortable. That number on your boarding card? A mere suggestion.

She was chatty. “Is that a good book? It’s SO hot in here. I can’t BELIEVE this airport doesn’t have a place to get your nails done.” I responded politely, waiting for the seat’s rightful owner to claim it.

He came along, looking confused. “Do you want to sit here?” he asked. “I guess I can just take your seat.” Dude, no way. You’re giving up an aisle seat in row 4 with the extra legroom — a seat you pay MORE for, by the way — for God knows what in aisle 21?

She flipped open the Sky Mall magazine and gave a little laugh. “Hmm?” I said, because a response seemed to be called for. “Look at this ice scraper with the fleece mitt on it,” she said. “It’s so cute!” After that, I ignored all other Sky Mall-related ejaculations.

I opened my computer. “Is that an HP?” she asked. “What model number is it?”

“Uh, no idea,” I said, opening up a file.

“Hey, do you mind if I check out the ports on the side of your computer?”

“Yes. Yes, I do mind.”

After that she contented herself with staring blatantly at the Standard Operating Procedure I was writing. It took all my self-control not to type, “The Programmer tests and validates STOP READING OVER MY SHOULDER, YOU FREAK.”