AITA for telling a family to fly private?
Imagine settling into a cramped plane seat, NYC to LAX, blood sugar dipping, and a bag of snacks as my lifeline. I’m mid-bite when a family—a mom, dad, and their 9-year-old—shoots me glares. “Can you not do that? Our son,” the mom snaps. I stow my food, figuring I’ll grab something from the flight attendant later.
But when she rolls by, the dad cuts me off—“Nothing for this row”—like I’m invisible. Turns out, their kid has Prader-Willi, a condition that sparks tantrums if he sees food he can’t have. I snap back, “I don’t care, fly private if you want control,” and eat anyway. AITA for prioritizing my diabetes over their kid’s meltdown?
‘AITA for telling a family to fly private?’
This was a midair showdown of medical musts. My Type 1 diabetes demands fuel—fast—or I’m courting a coma. Their son’s Prader-Willi means constant hunger and emotional chaos around food. Dr. Susan McDaniel, a family health expert, says, “Public spaces force compromise, not control” (from Medical Family Therapy). The parents wanted me to starve for their peace; I refused, chugging my Coke like a lifeline. Neither side’s wrong to prioritize survival, but their “don’t eat” edict ignored my reality.
The rub? They assumed I’d bend—rude, entitled even—while I assumed they’d cope. Stats show 1 in 5 flyers have medical needs (FAA, 2023), so clashes like this brew easy. They could’ve prepped him—snacks, distractions—or booked a buffer seat. Me? I could’ve flagged my T1D sooner, but their ambush left no room. Next time, they plan better; I speak up faster. Readers, am I the jerk for eating, or are they for dictating?
Here’s the input from the Reddit crowd:
Reddit’s verdict flew in hot: I’m not the asshole. Most cheered my stand—public flights aren’t private kingdoms, and my diabetes trumps their tantrum fears. They slammed the parents’ gall, especially the dad’s “nothing for this row” power play. Some felt for the kid’s struggle but said it’s their job to manage, not mine. A few questioned the story’s odds—Prader-Willi families usually lock down food access—but still backed me: my health, my call.
So, AITA? I scarfed my snack, they stewed, and we all landed tense. Their kid’s condition sucks, but my T1D isn’t negotiable—I’m not crashing to spare a scene. Maybe I could’ve been kinder, but their “no food” rule felt like a chokehold. Public means shared chaos—deal with it or pony up for private. If you were stuck between your health and their rules, would you bite back or buckle? Chime in—let’s unpack this turbulence!
