A woman with a yappy dog made JFK a nightmare, leaving messes and yelling at everyone. By the gate, I decided she’d earned a lesson. My little trick sent her running and left the gate laughing in relief.
The airport was a zoo—delays, crowds, and frayed nerves. Then I heard her, screaming into her phone on speaker near a shop. “I’m not doing that! Let her whine!” she said, ignoring the crowd. Her tiny dog, in a shiny collar, was making a mess on the floor. An older man politely pointed it out. “Miss, your dog…” She barked, “Mind your own business, old man!” People gasped, and a mom covered her kid’s eyes.
She didn’t clean up, saying, “They’ve got people for that,” and walked off. At TSA, she shoved past the line, claiming, “I have PreCheck, and my dog’s nervous.” The agent pointed her to the right line, but she fought, even arguing about removing her boots. At the coffee stand, she yelled at the barista for not having almond milk. “Are you slow?” she snapped, her phone blasting music, no headphones.
At Gate 22 for Rome, she took up three seats, her dog barking at everyone. A toddler cried when it lunged, and the parents moved away. Passengers whispered, hoping she wasn’t on their flight. I sat right beside her, grinning. “Long wait?” Her dog yipped at me. “He doesn’t like people,” she said, returning to her loud call about a lost ring. Her dog chewed a wrapper, unleashed, while she ignored it.
I’d dealt with her type in my old retail job—rude, entitled, expecting bows. My grandma’s words stuck with me: “Outsmart a bully with a smile.” I was ready. When her dog barked at an elderly couple, who shuffled away, I stood, stretched, and checked my phone by the gate’s edge. Then I sat back down and said, “Paris for vacation?” She snapped, “Rome.” I faked surprise. “Oh, my phone says Rome’s at Gate 14B now. This is Paris.”
She didn’t check, just muttered, “Stupid airport,” grabbed her bag, and yanked her dog away, cursing as she left. The gate went silent—no barking, no yelling. Soft chuckles spread. A woman gave me a thumbs-up, a man smiled, and a mom with a calm toddler mouthed, “Thank you.” A kid hugged her toy, giggling. The gate agent looked relieved. Rome’s flight was still at Gate 22, and she never came back. What would you have done?
