JFK Airport was a total mess that day. Crowds everywhere, long lines stretching endlessly, travelers grumbling and checking their watches. Flights delayed. The usual chaos. Then suddenly, a loud voice cut right through all the noise like a siren.
“Yeah, yeah, I told her I wasn’t gonna do that. It’s not my job. I don’t care if she cries.”
Heads snapped around. Near the Hudson News store, a woman in a bright red coat was holding her phone out in front of her, FaceTiming without any headphones. Her voice was sharp and loud — impossible to ignore.
Right behind her, on the shiny tile floor of the terminal, a small white dog — fluffy like a cotton ball — was squatting and doing its business right there. The dog’s rhinestone collar sparkled under the harsh fluorescent lights.
An older man wearing a tan cap stepped up, speaking softly but firmly, “Excuse me, miss? Your dog…” He pointed at the mess spreading on the floor.
“Some people are so damn rude,” she snapped without even looking at him. Then she turned right back to her phone call. “Ugh, this guy’s staring at me like I just murdered someone. Mind your business, Grandpa.”
Gasps spread through the crowd. Nearby, a mom covering her kid’s eyes whispered, “Oh my God…” like what she was seeing was some terrible crime.
A traveler, louder this time, called out, “Ma’am! You’re not going to clean that up?”
She kept walking, tossing her hand in the air as if the question was absurd. “They have people for that.”
People around stood frozen, mouths half-open, trying to process what they’d just witnessed. Some looked around for airport staff, but no one stepped forward. It was like the whole terminal was holding its breath.
Later, I caught sight of her again at the TSA checkpoint. She pushed past the long line, dropping her large tote bag at the front as if she owned the place.
“Ma’am, you need to wait your turn,” a TSA agent told her calmly.
“I have PreCheck,” she snapped back. “And my dog gets anxious.”
“That’s not the PreCheck line,” the agent said, pointing across the hall to a different line.
“Well, I’m going through anyway.”
Someone behind her muttered, “Unreal.”
Then the classic shoe argument started.
“I’m not taking them off,” she said stubbornly.
“You have to, ma’am,” the TSA agent replied.
“I’m TSA-friendly. They’re slides.”
“They’re boots, ma’am.”
“I’ll sue.”
Eventually, with a grumble and muttering under her breath, she took off her boots. Her dog barked nonstop — at a baby in a stroller, at a man using a cane, at rolling suitcases — nothing escaped the constant noise.
At the coffee stand, the scene got worse.
“No, I said almond milk. Are you deaf?” she snapped, her voice rising again.
“I’m sorry,” the barista said politely, “We only have oat or soy right now.”
“I said almond!”
Another worker tried to help. “We can refund you—”
“Forget it. You people are impossible.” She grabbed her drink and stormed off. Her music blasted from her phone speakers — still no headphones. Everyone could hear her playlist blaring through the busy terminal.
Finally, I made it to Gate 22, my flight to Rome. And there she was again.
Still FaceTiming, still no headphones, still letting her dog bark at anything and everything. She had her legs stretched over one chair, her huge bag on another, and the dog sprawled across a third like she owned the whole row.
A man across from her muttered, “This can’t be real.” A young woman nearby stood up and moved to another row of seats. Two older passengers whispered to each other nervously, “Is she really on our flight?” They looked worried — hoping she was just passing through.
The dog barked loudly at a toddler. The baby started crying, and the parents quietly picked up their child and walked away without a word.
Nobody wanted to sit near her. Nobody dared say anything. Except me.
I stood up and walked right over, sitting down beside her.
She glanced at me sideways, eyes narrow, like I might be another problem. I smiled warmly.
“Long wait, huh?” I said.
She didn’t answer. Her dog barked at my shoe.
“Cute little guy,” I said, trying to keep it light.
“He doesn’t like strangers,” she muttered.
“I get it,” I said softly. “Airports bring out the worst in everyone.”
She went right back to yelling into her phone. I leaned back in my seat and looked around. People were watching us — watching her, watching me.
They looked tired, hopeful, curious.
I stayed quiet. I already had a plan.
The chaos buzzed around us like white noise. She was still screaming about a missing bracelet and how “they’ll just have to send a new one.”
Her voice grated like nails on a chalkboard. The dog was now chewing on a plastic straw wrapper someone had dropped on the floor. No leash. No concern.
My eyes drifted to a couple sitting near the window. The man rested a cane across his lap, and his wife gripped her boarding pass tightly, like it was a fragile bird.
The dog barked twice at them — loud, sudden, sharp.
They flinched. The woman whispered something to the man. He nodded. Slowly, they stood up, gathered their things, and shuffled away.
That was it. I exhaled sharply, almost smiling.
This woman reminded me of someone I used to serve back when I worked in customer service. She’d dump out returns on the counter and say, “Do your job!” like it was a curse she wanted to throw on the world.
A person who storms through life like a hurricane, expecting everyone else to clean up the mess. I remember standing there, stunned, hands tied by the rules, while she demanded to speak to a manager I didn’t even like.
My mom used to say, “The only way to handle 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. An even longer week. And this gate — this moment — felt just right to finally listen to Mom.
The woman screeched 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 her chair and started barking again — high-pitched and nonstop.
A gate agent poked her head out to make an announcement, saw the chaos, and quietly ducked back inside.
I stood up.
She looked at me with a sneer. “What now?”
I smiled. “Just stretching.”
She rolled her eyes and went back to her call.
I stretched my arms, then 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, sat beside her again, and casually pulled out my phone.
“Flying to Paris for fun?” I asked, sounding friendly like we were old friends.
She stopped mid-sentence. “What?”
“Paris,” I said, nodding toward the gate monitor. “Are you going for work or vacation?”
She scoffed. “I’m going to Rome.”
“Oh.” I glanced up at the monitor — it still said “ROME – ON TIME” in big letters. Then I tapped my screen, pretending to check for updates. “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 like I was double-checking. “They must’ve switched it last minute. You better hurry — 14B is kinda far.”
She looked at the monitor, then at me, then back at her phone. She didn’t ask any questions. Didn’t call anyone to confirm.
She muttered, “Unbelievable.”
Then she stood up and started throwing things into her giant bag. The dog barked. She yanked the leash on for the first time and dragged the dog behind her.
As she stomped away, her voice echoed, “Stupid airport. No one knows what they’re doing.”
Not a single person stopped her. Not the gate agent. Not the exhausted passengers. Everyone just watched as she disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind a quiet trail of curses and tapping paws.
I leaned back in my seat.
Silence.
No barking. No yelling.
Just the normal hum of the airport gate.
The screen behind me still said “ROME – ON TIME.”
And she never came back.
A moment passed.
Then a soft laugh bubbled up somewhere near the back.
One person chuckled.
Then another.
Soon the gentle laughter rolled through the gate like a warm wave.
It wasn’t loud — just the kind of quiet laughter that spills out when relief finally settles in.
A young woman nearby 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 and mouthed, “Thank you.”
From the snack kiosk, someone clapped once.
Paused.
Then clapped again.
A few more joined in, unsure but wanting to share in the moment.
It didn’t need a full applause — just a quiet “we’re free now” kind of feeling.
A little girl near the window whispered, “Yay,” hugging her teddy bear tight.
Her parents looked less tense.
Even the gate agent, back at her podium, looked surprised — maybe even a little thankful.
I exchanged looks with a few others.
Rome only gets one flight a day from JFK.
Oops.