I was flying to New York and when I folded down my tray table I saw the upholstery behind it was a velcroed flap. I wanted to know what was behind it so I cast a furtive look around and yanked the corner. What was revealed was the plain metal back of the seat in front of me.



Disappointed, I thought there should have been something there to find. Then I thought, "I know! I'll install a secret message!" and I set out to write it. I had some fits and starts, unsure what to write to stranger of who-knows-when. But in the end I wrote a letter.

And this is what it said.

Dear You,

On July 20 2012, I flew to New York in this seat. It's incredible. Air travel was proven possible only a hundred years ago, didn't become popular until sixty years ago, and now it's fact of life.

I have been to cities, landmarks, and tourist traps in seven countries across three continents and the most crowded, chaotic place I have ever been is an airport. The sheer hurry up and wait in airports leaves everyone confused and tries the patience of saints. I was on standby for hours today because my flight was overbooked.

It's worth it though.

I don't think it will ever get old to see clouds from the top.

Go well, be well,
(Bvt) Major Misanthropology

Then I folded it so the "Dear You," remained showing and stowed it in it's place.



I don't know if anyone will ever find it but it's there, waiting, for the next person who gets curious.