Between Check-in and a Character Test

One Seat, One System, and Twelve Hours of Time

Prologue – Between Check-in and a Character Test

Sometimes a journey doesn’t begin with anticipation, but with a small imposition.
Nothing dramatic.
Just a subtle pinprick to one’s composure.

And because by now we know how quickly an “Oh, it’ll be fine” can turn into a very long “Oh yes…”
I’m telling this scene first.
As a forerunner.
As a quiet warning.
And as the opening act to everything that followed.

The Broken Seat and an Absurd Moment Above the Clouds

At the Lufthansa counter in Hamburg, the agent informed us that I had to be moved from seat H23 to K21.

Honestly.
That is information no one needs before a long-haul flight.

The reason: a defective seat.

“For the price you paid, you deserve a fully functional seat.”
Really?

The idea of moving both of us apparently never occurred to anyone — or perhaps it simply seemed too complicated.
But spending twelve hours on a flight from Munich to Los Angeles sitting (or lying) next to a stranger — or next to a lifeless, non-functioning seat?
Not with Reinhold.
That much can be said upfront.

We got nowhere with ground staff.
In Hamburg: pure arrogance.
In Munich: no time.
We had to move quickly from Terminal G to Terminal L —
there was no room for seat-related discussions.

On board — an A380, my absolute favorite aircraft —
we tried again.
After being welcomed by a crew wearing optimistically glittering “Happy 2026” crowns, we explained our now fully developed dilemma to a flight attendant.

She rubbed her chin thoughtfully.
Then something began that felt like a perfectly choreographed piece of deadpan absurdity,
executed with admirable precision.

I was seated at K23, next to the defective H23, waiting to see how it would all end.

Mr. A, aisle seat K21, was asked whether he would mind moving two rows back.
In theory, gladly — but his wife, Mrs. A, was seated across the aisle in the middle section at G21 and would need his assistance.

Then Lady B entered the scene — seatmate of Mrs. A,
also an aisle seat, but on the opposite side.
Lady B agreed to move and relocated from D21 to K23,
next to the seat that did not wish to cooperate.

Mr. A moved from K21 to G21.
Mrs. A moved from G21 to D21.
Couple A was now reunited — without an aisle between them.

I moved from K23 to K21.
Reinhold and I were finally seated together.
And Lady B had landed on K23 — but that part, we already knew.

“You owe us,” Reinhold said to her with a laugh,
“a seat without a seatmate…”

Think again.

After “all doors in flight,” one final passenger boarded.
Unhurried. Perfectly calm.
And sat down — exactly — in the underperforming seat H23, right next to Lady B.

“That’s probably an employee,” the flight attendant explained.
“He only pays about twenty percent of the ticket price.
Whereas you, having paid the full fare, are entitled to full performance.”

It sounded strangely familiar.

At that moment, I wouldn’t have been surprised
if someone had remarked that there used to be more sparkle in the old days.

We landed safely. All of us. The seat included.

Epilogue – And Now: California

And so begins our next round of America:
with a broken seat
and a perfectly oiled ballet of reassignment.

The rest will be nicer.
Warmer.
Wider.

And who knows — perhaps even with a fully functional seat cushion.

This journey can also be read as one continuous story:
California Winter – A Journey Between Desert and Pacific