JFK airport was chaos as usual — crowded, noisy, and full of stressed-out travelers. Long lines snaked everywhere. Delays hung in the air like thick fog. People shuffled around with tired faces and heavy bags, trying to get through the mess. Just another day at the busiest airport in New York.
Then suddenly, a sharp, loud voice cut through the noise, making heads turn and conversations freeze.
“Yeah, yeah, I told her I wasn’t gonna do that. It’s not my job. I don’t care if she cries,” a woman shouted, holding her phone out in front of her like the whole terminal was her stage. She was FaceTiming without headphones — everyone could hear her, whether they wanted to or not.
She wore a bright red coat that made her stand out like a flame, and behind her, a tiny white puffball of a dog squatted right there on the shiny tile floor — leaving a big mess.
Her dog’s rhinestone collar sparkled under the harsh airport lights, like it was showing off while the owner showed no care at all.
An older man in a tan cap stepped forward politely, his voice soft but firm. “Excuse me, miss? Your dog…” He pointed at the growing mess on the floor.
Without missing a beat, she snapped, “Some people are so damn rude,” then turned back to her phone, barely acknowledging him. “Ugh, this guy’s staring at me like I just murdered someone. Mind your business, Grandpa.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. A mother nearby whispered, “Oh my God,” and covered her child’s eyes like it was something no one should see.
Another traveler raised her voice, shocked. “Ma’am! You’re not going to clean that up?”
She kept walking, tossing her hand in the air as if the whole airport belonged to her. “They have people for that,” she said loudly.
Everyone froze, stunned. People exchanged looks as if trying to figure out if this was real or some bizarre nightmare.
Later, I saw her again at the TSA checkpoint. This time, she bulldozed past the line, ignoring the waiting passengers. She dropped her oversized tote bag 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 sharply. “And my dog gets anxious.”
The agent pointed to another line. “That’s not the PreCheck line.”
“Well, I’m going through anyway,” she said, stepping forward like rules were made for other people.
Someone behind her muttered, “Unreal.”
Then came the shoe fight.
“I’m not taking them off,” she said flatly.
“You have to,” the TSA worker insisted.
“I’m TSA-friendly. They’re slides,” she argued.
“They’re boots, ma’am.”
“I’ll sue.”
After a long, stubborn battle, she finally took off her boots, muttering angry complaints the whole time. Meanwhile, her dog barked nonstop — at a baby in a stroller, a man with a cane, a rolling suitcase — anything that moved was fair game.
At the coffee stand, she lost her temper again. “No, I said almond milk! Are you deaf?” she yelled.
“I’m sorry,” the barista said politely. “We only have oat or soy right now.”
“I said almond!”
“We can refund you,” another worker offered.
“Forget it. You people are impossible,” she snapped, grabbing her drink and storming off. Now her music blasted loudly from her phone speakers — still no headphones. She didn’t care if everyone heard her playlist.
Finally, I made it to Gate 22, the flight to Rome. And yes — there she was again.
Still FaceTiming without headphones. Still letting her dog bark at everything. She had her legs stretched across one chair, her bag thrown on another, and the dog sprawled out on a third.
A man nearby muttered, “This can’t be real.” A young woman quietly moved to another row of seats. Two older passengers whispered nervously, “Is she really on our flight?” They looked like they hoped she was just passing through.
The dog barked at a toddler. The child started crying, and the parents silently picked up the baby and moved away.
No one wanted to sit near her. No one wanted to say anything.
Except me.
I got up and sat down right next to her.
She glanced at me sideways, eyes narrowing like 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,” I said, “Airports bring out the worst in everyone.”
She went back to her call, and I leaned back in my chair, looking around. People were watching us. Watching her. Watching me.
They looked tired. Hopeful. Curious.
I stayed quiet. I already had a plan.
The noise of her yelling into the phone about a missing bracelet and how “they’ll just have to send a new one” scratched at my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
The dog chewed on a plastic straw wrapper someone dropped on the floor. No leash, no care.
My eyes caught a couple near the window. The man rested his cane across his lap, and his wife clutched their boarding passes like they were fragile treasures.
The dog barked twice at them — loud, sharp, sudden.
They flinched. The woman whispered something, the man nodded. Slowly, they gathered their things and shuffled away.
That was my moment. I exhaled quietly, almost smiling.
This woman reminded me of a customer I once served — the kind who throws returns on the counter and snarls, “Do your job!” like it’s a curse.
She was the kind who walked through life like a storm, expecting others to clean her mess. I remembered standing there, helpless, tied by rules, while she demanded to speak to a manager I didn’t even like.
My mom always told me, “The only way to deal with a bully is to smile and be smarter than they are.” I never forgot that.
And I was tired. It had been a long month, a longer week. This moment at the gate felt perfect to listen to Mom.
The woman beside me screamed into her phone again. “No! Tell him I’m not paying for that! If he wants to fight, he can take it to court. I’ve got screenshots!”
The dog jumped off its chair and started barking again. High-pitched, nonstop.
A gate agent peeked out, saw the chaos, and quietly ducked back inside.
I stood up.
She looked at me, annoyed. “What now?”
I smiled. “Just stretching.”
She rolled her eyes and went back to yelling.
I stretched a few steps away, then slowly walked to the edge of the gate near the window. I waited, just long enough for her to think I was gone. Just long enough for my plan to come together.
Then I walked back and sat down next to her again, pulling out my phone casually.
“Flying to Paris for fun?” I asked like we were old friends chatting.
She froze mid-sentence. “What?”
“Paris,” I said, nodding toward the gate sign. “Are you going for work or vacation?”
She scoffed, “I’m going to Rome.”
I glanced at the monitor — it still clearly said “ROME — ON TIME” in big letters. Then I tapped my phone screen like I had an update. “That’s weird. They just sent an alert saying they moved the Rome flight to gate 14B. This gate is for Paris now.”
She frowned. “What?”
“Yeah,” I said, scrolling my phone as if double-checking. “They must have switched it last minute. You better hurry — 14B’s pretty far.”
She looked at the monitor. Then at me. Then back to her phone. She didn’t question it. Didn’t confirm. Just muttered, “Unbelievable,” stood up, and started shoving things into her huge bag. The dog barked again. She yanked the leash — finally — and dragged it behind her.
As she stomped away, her voice echoed back. “Stupid airport. No one knows what they’re doing.”
No one stopped her. Not the gate agent. Not the tired passengers. Everyone just watched her disappear into the crowd — leaving behind only curses and a trail of little paws.
I leaned back in my seat. Silence. No barking. No yelling. Just the usual quiet buzz of an airport gate.
The screen behind me still said “ROME — ON TIME.”
She never came back.
A quiet moment passed, then a soft laugh broke through. Someone near the back chuckled, setting off another. Soon, gentle laughter rolled through the gate like a wave.
It wasn’t loud, just warm — the kind of laughter that comes from relief, from knowing the storm has passed.
A young woman gave me a thumbs-up. A man across the aisle tipped an invisible hat. The mom with the toddler, now happily playing with a toy truck, smiled wide and mouthed, “Thank you.”
From near the snack kiosk, someone clapped once, paused, then clapped again. Others joined in, unsure at first, but the moment didn’t need a big celebration. It just needed a quiet, grateful nod that something had changed.
A little girl near the window whispered, “Yay,” and hugged her stuffed bear tight. Her parents looked calmer. Even the gate agent returned to her desk with a surprised, maybe grateful smile.
I caught the eyes of a few others. Rome only has one flight from JFK each day.
Oops.