Don't make me angry, Mcgee

On my flight to Fukuoka, I am sitting next to two young girls– probably 13 and 15. Their parents are in the row in front of us.

They are fighting. "Mama!" one complains to her mom. "She keeps looking at me!"

"You keep doing weird things!" her sister snipes back.

"Just deal with it," the mother says, "You aren't children."

The dad is older. He doesn't seem interested in taking part. I think maybe he can't hear. I snap my fingers behind his head, but there is no reaction.

The girls keep bickering. It goes on for a while, until the mother, getting exasperated, says, "Shut up. If you can't stop fighting we are never taking you anywhere again."

The girls stop arguing, but keep fighting with their eyes. It's a thing only girls can do, I think. I'm not sure how it works, but it seems to be heating up. I'm a little worried where it is going to go. The mom can't see it, so it is going unchecked.

I wonder why the parents didn't sit behind, putting the children in the row in front. Maybe they knew this would happen and didn't want to have to deal with it.

Now, I'm no hero. Sure I've been called one. Sure the neighbourhood children look up to me with awe and reverence. Sure I sometimes go out in tights and a mask. But I am just a man. I just see what has to be done, and I do it. And these girls had to be stopped.

"It you girls don't stop it," I say, and their duelling eyes turn on me, "Then I am going to have to sit between you!"

The girls shut up, and the father looks back and gives me a thumbs up.