JFK Airport was as busy as ever—crowds packed the terminals, flights were delayed, lines stretched longer than usual, and people were tired and cranky. It was just another normal chaotic day at one of the busiest airports in the world. But then, something happened that made everyone stop what they were doing.
A loud, sharp voice cut through 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. Everyone’s attention was grabbed instantly.
Near the Hudson News store stood a woman wearing a bright red coat. She was holding her phone far away from her face, FaceTiming without any headphones. Her voice was piercing, echoing through the terminal, making it impossible to ignore.
At her feet, a small white dog—a fluffy puffball with a sparkling rhinestone collar—was squatting right in the middle of the tiled floor.
An older man, wearing a tan cap, stepped closer carefully and spoke softly, “Excuse me, miss? Your dog…” He gestured toward the growing mess on the floor.
“Some people are so damn rude,” she snapped without even looking at him. Then she turned back to her phone and sneered, “Ugh, this guy’s staring at me like I just murdered someone. Mind your business, Grandpa.”
Around us, gasps rippled through the crowd. A mother nearby gasped, “Oh my God,” and quickly covered her child’s eyes as if trying to shield them from a terrible scene.
Another traveler, louder this time, called out, “Ma’am! You’re not going to clean that up?”
The woman kept walking, tossing her hand up like it didn’t matter. “They have people for that,” she said like she was above it all.
People just froze, staring as if they couldn’t believe what they had seen. A mix of shock and disbelief spread like wildfire.
Later, I saw her again at the TSA checkpoint. This time, she shoved past the line, pushing her way to the front and dropping her tote bag on the floor like she owned the place.
“Ma’am, you need to wait your turn,” the TSA agent said firmly.
“I have PreCheck,” she snapped back, glaring. “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, already moving forward.
Someone behind her muttered, “Unreal.”
Then came the showdown about her shoes.
“I’m not taking them off,” she declared defiantly.
“You have to,” the agent insisted.
“I’m TSA-friendly. They’re slides.”
“They’re boots, ma’am.”
“I’ll sue.”
She finally took off her shoes, muttering angrily the entire time. Meanwhile, her dog barked nonstop—at a baby stroller, at a man using a cane, even at rolling suitcases. It was like the dog thought the airport was a jungle and everything was a threat.
At the coffee stand, the drama continued. She raised her voice again, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “No, I said almond milk. Are you deaf?”
“I’m sorry,” the barista said politely. “We only have oat or soy milk right now.”
“I said almond!” she shouted.
Another worker tried to help. “We can refund you if you want.”
“Forget it. You people are impossible,” she snapped, grabbed her drink, and stormed away. Her music was blasting now from her phone speakers, still no headphones in sight. She clearly didn’t care that everyone around her could hear every song.
I finally made my way to Gate 22, where the flight to Rome was supposed to leave. And, as if by fate, there she was again.
Still FaceTiming, still no headphones. Her dog was sprawled out, taking up three seats with her legs stretched across one chair and her bag on another.
A man sitting across from her muttered quietly, “This can’t be real.” Nearby, a young woman stood and moved to a different row. Two older passengers whispered, “Is she really on our flight?” They looked worried, hoping she was just passing through and not a fellow traveler.
The dog barked sharply at a toddler, who immediately started crying. The parents picked up the child and silently walked away, clearly fed up.
No one wanted to sit near her. No one wanted to say anything. Except me.
I walked over and sat right next to her.
She glanced at me sideways, her eyes narrowed as if I was about to cause trouble. But I smiled warmly. “Long wait, huh?”
She ignored me. The dog barked at my shoe.
“Cute little guy,” I said kindly.
“He doesn’t like strangers,” she muttered.
“I get it,” I said with a nod. “Airports bring out the worst in everyone.”
She went back to her phone call, still yelling about some missing bracelet. “They’ll just have to send a new one,” she was saying. Her voice was sharp, like nails on a chalkboard.
The dog now started chewing on a plastic straw wrapper that someone had dropped on the floor. No leash, no care.
My eyes drifted to a couple sitting near the window. The man had a cane resting on his lap, and his wife gripped a boarding pass tightly like it was something precious.
The dog barked loudly at them twice. They both flinched. The woman whispered something quietly to the man, who nodded. They slowly stood up, packed their things, and shuffled away.
That was the moment I decided to act.
She reminded me of a difficult customer I once served when I worked in customer service. The kind of person who threw returns onto the counter and snapped, “Do your job,” as if that was a spell that made things happen instantly.
A person who swept through life like a storm, expecting others to clean up their mess.
I remembered what my mom always told me: “The only way to deal with a bully is to smile and move smarter than they do.” I never forgot that advice.
And honestly, I was tired. It had been a long, stressful month. A week even longer. This moment, at this gate, felt like the perfect time to listen to Mom.
The woman beside me was still yelling into her phone. “No! Tell him I’m not paying for that! If he wants to fight, he can take it to court. I’ve got screenshots!”
Her dog jumped off its chair, barking again — high-pitched, nonstop.
A gate agent peeked out to make an announcement, saw what was going on, and quickly ducked back inside, avoiding the mess.
I stood up casually.
She looked at me, annoyed. “What now?”
I smiled. “Just stretching.”
She rolled her eyes and went back to her phone call.
I stretched my arms, walked over to the edge of the gate area, and leaned near the window. I waited just long enough for her to think I’d left. Just long enough for my plan to come together.
Then I walked back and sat down beside her again, pulling out my phone like it was just another normal day.
“Flying to Paris for fun?” I asked casually, as if we were old friends chatting.
She stopped mid-sentence. “What?”
“Paris,” I said, nodding toward the gate monitors. “Are you going for work or vacation?”
She scoffed. “I’m going to Rome.”
“Oh.” I glanced up at the screen — still clearly saying “ROME – ON TIME” in bold letters. Then I tapped my phone like I’d just received an important update. “That’s weird. They just sent a push alert saying the Rome flight was moved to gate 14B. This gate’s for Paris now.”
She frowned, confused. “What?”
“Yeah,” I said, scrolling on my phone like I was double-checking. “They must’ve switched gates last minute. You better hurry—14B’s kind of far.”
She stared at the monitor, then at me, then back down at her phone. She didn’t question me. Didn’t check with anyone. She just muttered, “Unbelievable,” grabbed her things, and stood up.
The dog barked again. She yanked the leash—finally—and dragged the poor thing behind her.
As she stomped away, her voice echoed over her shoulder. “Stupid airport. No one knows what they’re doing.”
No one stopped her. Not the gate agent, not the tired passengers. Everyone just watched as she disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind a trail of angry words and the sound of tapping paws.
I leaned back in my seat. Finally, peace. No barking, no shouting. Just the usual gentle hum of an airport gate.
The screen behind me still read: “ROME – ON TIME.”
And she never came back.
A quiet moment passed.
Then, from somewhere near the back, a soft laugh escaped. Another chuckle followed. Soon, it spread across the gate like a warm wave, gentle and relieving.
A young woman gave me a thumbs-up. A man across the aisle tipped an imaginary hat. The mom with the toddler, now happily playing with a toy truck, smiled and silently mouthed, “Thank you.”
From near the snack kiosk, someone clapped once, paused, then clapped again. A few others joined, unsure but happy to acknowledge the moment. It wasn’t a big celebration—just a quiet, shared relief.
A little girl near the window whispered, “Yay,” hugging her stuffed bear close. Her parents looked more relaxed, even the gate agent returned to her post, a small smile on her face.
I caught the eyes of a few others. For once, the airport felt a little lighter.
Rome only has one flight a day from JFK. Looks like she missed it.
Oops.