A woman’s rude behavior and noisy dog turned our airport wait into a nightmare. Done with her antics, I used a clever plan at the gate to teach her a lesson and bring relief to everyone around.
JFK was buzzing. Delays, packed lines, and tired travelers created a tense vibe. Then her voice rang out, loud and harsh, drowning out the crowd. Near a bookstore, a woman in a loud sweater was yelling into her phone on speaker, no earbuds. “I’m not doing it! She can sob all day!” she said. People stared. Her small dog, with a shiny collar, was leaving a mess on the floor. An older man in a cap stepped up, gentle. “Miss, your dog…” he said, pointing. She turned, glaring. “Stay out of it, pops!” she snapped, back to her call. “Some guy’s gawking at me!” People gasped. A mom nearby muttered, “No way,” covering her kid’s eyes. Another woman called, “Clean that up!” The woman waved her off. “They’ve got cleaners,” she said, strolling away.
I saw her again at security. She cut through the line, dropping her bag like she was in charge. “You need to wait,” the TSA agent said. “I’m PreCheck,” she huffed. “My dog’s antsy.” The agent pointed to the PreCheck line. “That’s there.” She went through anyway, then argued about her shoes. “I’m not taking them off,” she said. “They’re loafers.” The agent insisted, and she gave in, grumbling. Her dog barked at a stroller, a cane, a suitcase—everything. At the juice bar, she shouted, “I said almond milk!” The barista apologized. “We’ve got soy or oat.” She grabbed her drink, blasting music from her phone, no earbuds, and left. People cringed.
At Gate 22 for Rome, she was back, claiming three seats—her legs on one, bag on another, dog on the third. Still on speakerphone, yelling about a lost earring. Her dog barked at a passing toddler, who cried. The parents scooped their kid and left. People whispered, “Is she on our plane?” A man shook his head. Nobody sat near her. I did. Smiling, I sat beside her. She glared, cautious. “Tough wait?” I said. She ignored me, her dog yipping at my bag. “Sweet dog,” I said. “He’s not friendly,” she muttered. “Airports are rough,” I replied, settling in. She resumed her call, ranting. I noticed an older couple by the window, the man with a walker. Her dog barked at them. They flinched, grabbed their bags, and moved. That was enough.
I’d dealt with people like her when I worked in a hotel, demanding upgrades, expecting bows. My dad always said, “Outwit a bully with a smile.” Worn out from a long month, this gate was my chance. She yelled into her phone again, about a delivery mix-up. Her dog chewed a stray straw, no leash. I stood, stretched, and walked to the gate’s edge, staring out. I paused, letting her think I’d left. Then I sat back down, pulling out my phone. “Heading to Paris?” I asked, friendly. “What?” she snapped. “Paris,” I said, pointing at the gate. “Work or fun?” She scoffed. “Rome.” I glanced at the sign—“ROME – ON TIME”—then tapped my phone. “Odd. I got an alert saying Rome’s at Gate 14B. This is Paris now.” I scrolled, acting confused. “You’d better check. 14B’s far.”
She looked at the sign, then me, then her phone. “This is insane,” she grumbled, packing up. Her dog barked as she grabbed its leash and stormed off, cursing the “dumb airport.” Nobody stopped her. The gate grew quiet—no barking, no yelling, just calm. The sign still said “ROME – ON TIME.” She didn’t return. A chuckle started, then spread, soft and warm. A woman nodded at me. A dad with a now-happy kid smiled. Someone clapped lightly, then others joined, a quiet nod to the shift. A girl by the window giggled, clutching her toy. The gate agent, stepping out, looked relieved. Rome’s a once-daily flight from JFK. Oops. Enjoyed the story?
