JFK was chaos.
Delayed flights, crowds snaking through long security lines, and grumpy passengers everywhere—it was a typical travel day. But then, above the usual airport noise, came a voice that cut through like a siren.
“Yeah, I told her I’m not doing that. Not my job. I don’t care if she cries.”
Heads turned. A woman in a bold red coat stood near the Hudson News, FaceTiming loudly with no headphones in sight.
Her phone was held at arm’s length, her voice sharp and jarring.
Meanwhile, behind her, a tiny white dog squatted in the middle of the walkway.
Its rhinestone-studded collar shimmered under the fluorescent lights as it left an unmistakable mess on the tile.
An elderly man in a beige cap approached and gently pointed out, “Miss, your dog…”
Before he could finish, she snapped, “Some people are so dam.n ru.de,” then turned back to her screen. “Ugh, he’s staring at me like I k!lled someone. Mind your business, Grandpa.”
Another passenger called out, “Ma’am! Are you seriously not going to clean that up?”
She didn’t even pause. With a dismissive wave, she barked, “That’s what janitors are for,” and kept walking.
People stood frozen in disbelief.
Later at TSA, I saw her again. She barged past the line, dropped her oversized tote at the front, and declared, “I have PreCheck. My dog gets nervous.”
“That’s not the PreCheck lane,” the agent calmly explained, pointing her elsewhere.
“I don’t care. I’m going through,” she insisted.
Then came the shoe standoff.
“I’m not taking them off,” she argued.
“They’re boots, ma’am. You have to,” the TSA agent replied.
“They’re slides. I’ll sue you.”
Eventually, she complied, all while grumbling.
Meanwhile, her dog barked at anything that moved — strollers, elderly passengers, even rolling suitcases.
At the café, she snapped at the barista. “I said almond milk. Are you deaf?”
“We only have oat or soy,” the young worker said gently.
“Whatever. You people are useless,” she snapped, snatching the drink and stomping away — music now blaring from her phone speaker.
Finally, I reached Gate 22 — the Rome flight. And there she was. Again.
Still yelling into FaceTime. Still no headphones.
Still letting her dog bark at every stroller or child that passed. She sprawled across three chairs — legs on one, bag on another, dog on the third.
A man across from her muttered, “This cannot be real.” A few people quietly relocated. An older couple whispered nervously, “Is she on our flight?”
A toddler began to cry after being barked at. The parents scooped him up and left. No one dared confront her.
No one… except me.
I took the seat right next to her.
She glanced at me, clearly sizing me up for trouble. I smiled and said casually, “Long day, huh?”
No answer. Her dog growled at my shoe.
“Cute pup,” I offered.
“He doesn’t like strangers,” she replied flatly.
“I get that. Airports bring out the worst in people,” I said.
She returned to her call. I leaned back, quietly watching. Others watched too — not just her anymore, but me, and this odd choice to sit beside chaos. Their curiosity was palpable.
I said nothing. I had a plan.
As she argued over something trivial on the phone — a missing bracelet, some refund dispute — her dog chewed on a plastic wrapper someone had dropped. No leash in sight.
Nearby, an older couple looked tense. The man had a cane across his knees, and his wife clutched their boarding pass like it might vanish.
When the dog barked at them, they flinched and quietly stood up to move.
That was the last straw.
I thought back to my retail job, dealing with people like her — entitled, cruel, expecting everyone else to clean up after them.
She screeched into her phone again, something about refusing to pay and taking someone to court. Her dog leapt off the seat, barking madly.
A gate agent peeked out, took one look at the scene, and promptly ducked back inside.
I stood up.
She looked annoyed. “What now?”
“Just stretching,” I smiled.
She rolled her eyes and went back to FaceTime.
I strolled a few feet away, pretended to stretch, then wandered near the gate window. I waited. Then circled back casually, settling beside her again.
“Flying to Paris for fun?” I asked with fake friendliness.
She paused her call. “What?”
“Paris,” I repeated, nodding toward the gate. “You headed there for work or just a getaway?”
She frowned. “I’m going to Rome.”
“Oh.” I acted puzzled, tapping my phone. “Weird. My app just said they moved the Rome flight to 14 B. Guess this gate’s for Paris now.”
She looked at the monitor. It still clearly said “ROME – ON TIME.”
But she didn’t double-check. She just muttered, “Unbelievable,” and started tossing her things into her bag.
The dog barked. She finally grabbed the leash and stormed off, ranting about incompetence.
No one tried to stop her. No one even looked sorry.
I leaned back in the now-vacant seat. Silence. Blessed, glorious silence. The gate screen still read: “ROME – ON TIME.” And she never came back.
A beat passed. Then a quiet chuckle from the back.
It spread — a soft, rolling laugh of shared relief.
A girl gave me a thumbs-up. A dad mouthed “thank you.”
Someone clapped, tentatively at first. A little girl near the window whispered “yay” and hugged her stuffed bear.
Even the gate agent smiled as she returned to the podium.
Rome only gets one flight a day. Guess she missed it. Oops.
