A rude woman made our airport wait miserable with her dog’s mess, loud calls, and tantrums. Tired of her chaos, I used a smart trick at the gate to reclaim peace and show her actions have consequences.
JFK was chaos. Long lines, delayed flights, and frazzled travelers set the mood. Then her voice hit, loud and grating, cutting through the din. By a newsstand, a woman in a flashy jacket was shouting into her phone on speaker, no earbuds. “I’m not doing that! Let her whine!” she said. Everyone stared. Her tiny dog, decked in a jeweled collar, was making a mess on the floor. An older man in a hat approached, kind. “Miss, your dog…” he said, pointing. She glared. “Get a life, old timer!” she snapped, back to her call. “Some guy’s judging me now!” People gasped. A mom nearby whispered, “Wow,” shielding her kid. Another woman shouted, “Clean it up!” The woman flicked her hand. “That’s their job,” she said, walking off.
I saw her again at security. She cut the line, tossing her bag down like she ruled the place. “Wait your turn,” the TSA agent said. “I’ve got PreCheck,” she huffed. “My dog’s nervous.” The agent pointed to the PreCheck line. “Over there.” She pushed through anyway, then fought about her shoes. “I’m not taking them off,” she said. “They’re flats.” The agent stood firm, and she gave in, muttering. Her dog yapped at a stroller, a walker, a bag—everything. At the café, she screamed, “I said soy milk!” The barista said, “We’re out, just oat or almond.” She snatched her drink, blasting music from her phone, no headphones, and left. People winced.
At Gate 22 for Rome, she was back, taking up three seats—her feet on one, bag on another, dog on the third. Still on speakerphone, ranting about a lost ring. Her dog barked at a passing child, who cried. The parents grabbed their kid and left. People muttered, “Is she on our flight?” A woman moved rows away. Nobody sat near her. I did. Smiling, I sat beside her. She shot me a look, wary. “Rough day?” I said. She ignored me, her dog snarling at my shoe. “Cute pup,” I said. “He’s not friendly,” she grumbled. “Airports are tough,” I replied, settling in. She resumed her call, yelling. I saw an older couple by the window, the man with a cane. Her dog barked at them. They tensed, gathered their things, and moved. That was it.
I’d faced people like her when I worked in a call center, demanding the impossible, expecting groveling. My mom taught me, “Beat a bully with brains and a grin.” Exhausted from a tough week, this gate was my moment. She shouted into her phone again, about a refund. Her dog gnawed a stray wrapper, no leash. I stood, stretched, and walked to the gate’s edge, looking out. I paused, letting her think I’d gone. Then I returned, sat down, and pulled out my phone. “Off to Paris?” I asked, cheery. “What?” she snapped. “Paris,” I said, nodding at the gate. “Business or pleasure?” She scoffed. “Rome.” I glanced at the sign—“ROME – ON TIME”—then tapped my phone. “Weird. I got a notification saying Rome’s at Gate 14B now. This is Paris.” I scrolled, acting puzzled. “Check it. 14B’s a hike.”
She glanced at the sign, then me, then her phone. “This is a joke,” she muttered, packing up. Her dog yipped as she grabbed its leash and stormed off, cursing the “useless airport.” Nobody stopped her. The gate went silent—no barking, no yelling, just peace. The sign still said “ROME – ON TIME.” She didn’t come back. A soft laugh started, then spread, warm and light. A guy nodded at me. A mom with a calm toddler smiled. Someone clapped quietly, then others joined, a subtle nod to the change. A kid by the window cheered softly, hugging her toy. The gate agent, returning, looked grateful. Rome’s a daily flight from JFK. Oops. Loved the story?
