Ok, point of order.
You there, Mr. Seat 16B on NW flight 504 from Memphis on Thursday, let me tell you a little story.
That arm rest is collective property. By which I mean, get your elbow the hell out of my personal space.
Now, I'm too polite to have made a big deal about it, but believe you me, I resented every second of your stupid elbow up in my business.
Here's the deal, there's this thing in the U S and A that we respect.
It's called personal space.
I paid a lot of money for the privilege of having my flight delayed by an hour and a half, of riding in a huge metal cigar with 300 people I don't care to socialize with.
Part of the social pact that we have here in my country tis of thee is that you don't get up in my space and I don't get up in yours.
This includes the arm rest.
Since there's only one, and there's two of us, we have to compromise. Where I'm from, this means that we both share it.
By not touching it at all.
See, if you use it, your elbow gets up in my ribs. If I use it, my elbow gets up in yours.
Notice that my elbow wasn't anywhere near your ribs? I did.
From here on out, let's you and me pretend that that elbow rest is sort of like the DMZ.
Next time you violate its sanctity, I'm going to go all sorts of Kim Jong-Il on that ass.
I come from a family of hard-headed Irish and impatient Hispanics.
You don't want any of this.
So, everyone out there in airplane land, let's make a deal like Monty Hall.
If you're on a crowded plane, do the person next to you the courtesy of leaving the elbow rest unoccupied. That'll assure everyone of their own personal space.
Think of the germophobes, agoraphobes, claustrophobes, and misanthropes.
By which I mean me.
So there it is. Agreed.