JFK airport was its usual chaotic self — packed with noisy crowds, long lines weaving through every corner, and delays hanging heavy like a fog. Travelers shuffled around exhausted, weighed down by bags and stress, just trying to survive the busiest airport in New York.
Suddenly, a loud, sharp voice pierced the background noise, freezing nearby conversations and drawing attention.
“Yeah, yeah, I told her I’m not doing that. Not my job. I don’t care if she cries,” a woman shouted, holding her phone out like the whole terminal was her audience. She was FaceTiming without headphones, broadcasting every word to everyone nearby whether they wanted to hear it or not.
Dressed in a striking red coat that made her impossible to miss, her tiny white dog squatted right on the shiny tile floor, leaving a mess behind.
The dog’s rhinestone collar sparkled under the airport lights as if flaunting itself, while the owner showed zero concern.
An elderly man in a tan cap stepped forward politely. “Excuse me, miss? Your dog…” He pointed at the mess growing on the floor.
She snapped back without missing a beat, “Some people are so damn rude,” then turned back to her phone. “Ugh, this guy’s staring like I murdered someone. Mind your business, Grandpa.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Nearby, a mother whispered “Oh my God,” shielding her child’s eyes as if it were something too awful to witness.
Another traveler raised her voice in disbelief. “Ma’am! Aren’t you going to clean that up?”
She just walked away, flicking her hand as if the entire airport was hers. “They have people for that,” she called over her shoulder.
Everyone stood frozen, exchanging stunned looks, unsure if this was reality or a nightmare.
Later, I saw her again at the TSA checkpoint. She barreled past the line, ignoring the waiting passengers, dropping her oversized tote right in front of the desk like she owned the place.
“Ma’am, you need to wait your turn,” the agent said calmly.
“I have PreCheck,” she snapped. “And my dog gets anxious.”
“That’s not the PreCheck line,” the agent corrected.
“Well, I’m going through anyway,” she said, stepping forward like rules didn’t apply to her.
Someone behind muttered, “Unbelievable.”
Then came the shoe standoff.
“I’m not taking them off,” she said flatly.
“You have to,” the TSA worker insisted.
“They’re slides. I’m TSA-friendly,” she argued.
“They’re boots, ma’am.”
“I’ll sue.”
After a long, stubborn battle, she finally removed her boots, grumbling angrily. Meanwhile, her dog barked nonstop — at babies, a man with a cane, rolling suitcases — anything that moved.
At the coffee stand, she lost her temper again. “No, I said almond milk! Are you deaf?” she yelled.
“I’m sorry, we only have oat or soy,” the barista replied politely.
“I said almond!”
“We can refund you,” another worker offered.
“Forget it. You people are impossible,” she snapped, storming off as her music blasted loudly from her phone speakers—still no headphones. She didn’t care who heard.
Finally, I got to Gate 22, for the flight to Rome. And there she was.
Still FaceTiming loudly without headphones, still letting her dog bark at everything. She stretched her legs across one chair, tossed her bag on another, with the dog sprawled out on a third.
Nearby, a man muttered, “This can’t be real.” A young woman quietly moved to another row. Two older passengers whispered nervously, “Is she really on our flight?” hoping she was just passing through.
The dog barked at a toddler, who started crying. The parents silently picked up their child and moved away.
No one wanted to sit near her. No one wanted to confront her.
Except me.
I stood and sat down right beside her.
She glanced at me, eyes narrowing as if I might be trouble. I smiled warmly. “Long wait, huh?”
She ignored me, and the dog barked at my shoe.
“Cute little guy,” I said softly.
“He doesn’t like strangers,” she muttered.
“I get it. Airports bring out the worst in everyone,” I said.
She went back to her call. I leaned back, watching the scene. People were watching us — tired, hopeful, curious.
I stayed quiet. I had a plan.
Her yelling about a lost bracelet and how “they’ll just have to send a new one” grated on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
The dog gnawed on a plastic wrapper on the floor. No leash, no concern.
I noticed a couple near the window. The man rested his cane, his wife clutched their boarding passes like treasures.
The dog barked sharply at them. They flinched, whispered, and slowly gathered their things to leave.
That was my moment. I exhaled quietly, almost smiling.
This woman reminded me of a difficult customer I once served — the kind who tosses returns on counters and snarls, “Do your job!” as if it’s a curse.
The kind who storms through life expecting others to clean up her mess.
My mom always said, “The best way to handle a bully is to smile and outsmart them.” I never forgot.
I was tired. It had been a long month, a long week. This was the perfect moment to follow that advice.
She screamed into her phone again, “No! Tell him I’m not paying! If he wants to fight, he can take it to court. I’ve got screenshots!”
The dog jumped off the chair, barking nonstop.
A gate agent peeked, saw the chaos, and quietly retreated.
I stood up.
She looked annoyed. “What now?”
I smiled. “Just stretching.”
She rolled her eyes and went back to yelling.
I stretched a few steps away, then quietly moved to the gate’s edge by the window, waiting just long enough to seem gone.
Then I returned and sat next to her again, pulling out my phone casually.
“Flying to Paris for fun?” I asked, like old friends chatting.
She froze mid-sentence. “What?”
“Paris,” I said, nodding at the gate sign. “Going for work or vacation?”
She scoffed, “I’m going to Rome.”
I glanced at the monitor — still showing “ROME — ON TIME.” Then I tapped my phone. “Weird, they just sent an alert moving the Rome flight to gate 14B. This gate’s for Paris now.”
She frowned. “What?”
“Yeah,” I said, pretending to double-check my phone. “Looks like a last-minute change. You better hurry — 14B is pretty far.”
She looked at the screen, then me, then her phone. She didn’t question it. Just muttered, “Unbelievable,” grabbed her things, leash in hand, and stormed off.
Her voice echoed behind her, “Stupid airport. No one knows what they’re doing.”
No one stopped her — no gate agent, no tired passengers. Everyone just watched her vanish into the crowd, leaving only curses and paw prints.
I leaned back. Quiet. No barking. No yelling. Just the usual airport hum.
The screen still said “ROME — ON TIME.”
She never came back.
A soft laugh broke the silence, then another. Soon, gentle laughter rippled through the gate like a wave — warm and relieved.
A young woman gave me a thumbs-up. A man across tipped an invisible hat. The mom with the toddler smiled and mouthed, “Thank you.”
From the snack kiosk, someone clapped once, then again. Others joined in hesitantly, not needing a big celebration, just a quiet, grateful nod that things had changed.
A little girl near the window whispered, “Yay,” hugging her teddy bear. Her parents looked calmer. Even the gate agent returned with a surprised, maybe grateful smile.
I caught a few knowing looks. Rome only has one flight from JFK a day.