She let her dog poop on the floor, cranked up the music, and barked at the staff like she owned the airport. By the time we got to the gate, everyone was drained, so I sat down next to her with a smile and found a reason to make her leave.
JFK was packed. Slow-moving lines, long waits, cranky travelers. The usual. Then came her voice. Loud, sharp, impossible to miss.
“Yeah, I told her I wouldn’t. It’s not my job. If she cries, that’s her problem.”
Everyone turned. A woman in a red coat was FaceTiming, no headphones, holding her phone in front of her like a weapon. Her voice cut through the chaos like a car alarm.
Behind her, a tiny white dog squatted on the floor, its rhinestone collar sparkling under the harsh airport lights.
An elderly man in a tan cap said, “Excuse me, miss? Your dog…” and pointed to the mess.
“Some people are so rude,” she muttered, back to her phone. “This guy’s looking at me like I murdered someone. Mind your business, Grandpa.”
A few people gasped. One woman covered her kid’s eyes like they were at a crime scene.
Another traveler shouted, “Ma’am, aren’t you going to clean that up?”
She just kept walking and waved her hand dismissively. “They have people for that.”
The crowd stood there, frozen, trying to figure out what had just happened.
Later, I saw her at TSA. She barged past the line and threw her tote bag up front, like she owned the place.
“Ma’am, wait your turn,” the agent said.
“I have PreCheck,” she snapped. “And my dog’s anxious.”
“That’s not the PreCheck line,” the agent said, pointing across the room.
“I’m going through anyway,” she said, pushing past.
Someone behind her muttered, “Unbelievable.”
Then came the shoe standoff.
“I won’t take them off,” she said.
“You have to,” said the TSA agent.
“I’m TSA-friendly. They’re slides.”
“They’re boots, ma’am.”
“I’ll sue.”
She finally grumbled and removed them. Her dog was still barking nonstop at the stroller, cane, and suitcase next to her.
At the coffee kiosk, she was back at it. “I said almond milk. Are you deaf?”
“I’m sorry,” the barista said. “We only have oat or soy right now.”
“I said almond!” she snapped.
“We can refund you,” another worker offered.
“Forget it. You people are impossible.” She grabbed her drink and left, music blaring from her phone without headphones.
When I finally got to Gate 22 for my flight to Rome, guess who was back.
She was still on FaceTime, still no headphones, still letting her dog bark at everything. Her legs were sprawled over one chair, her purse on another, and the dog on the third.
The guy across from her muttered, “This can’t be real.” She moved to a different row, and a couple of older passengers exchanged worried glances, hoping she wasn’t on their flight.
Her dog barked at a toddler, who burst into tears. The parents grabbed the kid and walked away without a word.
Nobody sat near her. Nobody spoke. Except me.
I walked over, sat down next to her, and flashed a smile.
She looked at me sideways, like I was the next problem. I grinned. “Long wait, huh?”
She didn’t respond. Her dog barked at my shoes.
“Cute little guy,” I said.
“He doesn’t like strangers,” she muttered.
“I get it,” I said. “Airports can really bring out the worst in people.”
She went back to her phone call. I leaned back, feeling the eyes of everyone in the terminal on us—watching her, watching me.
We were all tired, but also curious.
I kept quiet. I had a plan.
The noise around me kept buzzing. She was yelling into her phone about a lost bracelet and how “they’ll just have to send a new one.” Her voice grated on me like nails on a chalkboard.
Her dog chewed on a plastic straw wrapper. No leash. No concern.
I noticed a couple near the window. The man had a cane on his lap, and his wife held a boarding pass like a bird in her hand. The dog barked twice—loud, sharp, and jarring. They flinched. A woman nearby whispered, and the man nodded, slowly gathering their things and leaving.
I took a deep breath, nearly smiling.
This woman reminded me of customers I dealt with in my old service job—the ones who threw returns on the counter and demanded, “Do your job” like it was a curse.
The ones who stormed through life expecting everyone else to clean up after them. I’d stand there, blinking, unable to do anything as they asked to speak to a manager I didn’t even like.
My mom used to say, “The best way to handle a bully is to smile and outsmart them.” I never forgot that.
By now, I was beyond exhausted. This gate, this moment, felt like the perfect opportunity to listen to my mom.
I heard the woman yelling into her phone again. “No! Tell him I’m not paying! He can take it to court. I have screenshots!”
Her dog barked again, high-pitched and unrelenting.
A gate agent peeked out, took in the scene, and quietly retreated.
I stood up.
She glared at me, “What now?”
“Just stretching,” I said with a smile.
She rolled her eyes and went back to her call.
After stretching, I wandered to the edge of the gate, leaned by the window, and waited long enough for her to think I was gone—long enough for my plan to kick in.
I walked back and sat next to her again, pulling out my phone like it was just another day.
“Flying to Paris for fun?” I asked casually.
She froze mid-sentence. “What?”
“Paris,” I said, gesturing toward the gate. “For work or vacation?”
She sneered. “I’m going to Rome.”
She frowned. “What?”
“Yeah,” I said, scrolling through my phone like I was checking the gate info. “They changed it last minute. Please hurry, 14B is far.”
I glanced at the monitor, then at her, then back at the screen. I didn’t confirm or deny. Just said, “Unbelievable,” and stood up, shoving my stuff into my bag. The dog barked. Finally, she grabbed its leash and yanked it along behind her.
Her voice echoed as she stormed off. “Stupid airport. No one knows what they’re doing.”
No one stopped her. Not the gate agents. Not the other passengers. We all watched as she disappeared into the crowd, still ranting.
I sat back down, the noise of the terminal suddenly calm. No barking. No shouting. Just the usual hum of an airport. The sign above read “ROME – ON TIME.” She never came back.
A soft laugh rippled through the crowd. Someone in the back chuckled, which triggered another round of laughter. It spread through the gate like a gentle wave. It wasn’t loud or boastful—just a quiet, relieving kind of laughter.
A girl gave me a thumbs-up. A man across the aisle tipped his invisible hat. The toddler, now calm, played with a toy truck, and the mom smiled at me, mouthing a “thank you.”
There was a round of light clapping near the food kiosk. Once, then a pause, then again. Some people joined in, unsure, but it didn’t need to be a big deal. It was just a quiet acknowledgment that something had changed.
A girl by the window whispered, “Yay,” as she hugged her stuffed bear. Her parents relaxed, and the gate agent came back, looking a bit stunned, maybe even thankful.
A few passengers glanced my way. The JFK flight to Rome only happens once a day. Oops.