She let her dog crap on the floor, blared music, and yelled at staff like the airport was her kingdom. Everyone was fatigued by the time we reached the gate, so I sat next to her with a smile and offered her a cause to go.

The JFK was full. Slow transit, long lineups, grumpy passengers. The usual. Voice came next. Sharp, loud, and unmissable.

“Yes, I told her I wouldn’t. Not my job. Don’t mind if she cries.”

Everyone turned. A red-coated woman FaceTiming without headphones stood near Hudson News, holding her phone in front of her. Like a vehicle alarm, her voice sliced through the noise.

A little white puffball dog was squatting in the terminal behind her. Its rhinestone collar shone in the harsh airport lighting.

An elderly man in a tan cap said, “Excuse me, miss?” Your dog…” He pointed to the tile mess.

“Some people are so damn rude,” she fumed, returning to her phone conversation. “This guy’s staring at me like I killed someone. Remember your business, Grandpa.”

The crowd gasped. One woman near me shouted, “Oh my God,” and covered her child’s eyes like a crime scene.

Another traveler shouted. “Ma’am! You won’t tidy up?”

The woman kept walking. She raised her hand, “They have people for that.”

People stood still in astonishment, attempting to understand what transpired.

I saw her again at TSA. She pushed through line and put her tote bag at the front like she owned it.

“Ma’am, wait your turn,” the agent said.

“I have PreCheck,” she said. “And my dog gets anxious.”

“That’s not the PreCheck line,” the agent replied, pointing across the room.

“Well, I’m going through anyway.”

A voice behind her said, “Unreal.”

The shoe argument followed.

“I won’t remove them,” she said.

“You have to,” said the TSA agent.

I’m TSA-friendly. They’re slides.”

“They’re boots, ma’am.”

“I’ll sue.”

Her grumbling continued as she removed them. A stroller, a cane, and a suitcase all irked her dog. Nonstop.

Her voice rose again at the coffee kiosk. I said almond milk. You deaf?”

“I’m sorry,” said the barista. “We only have oat or soy right now.”

“I said almond!”

“We can refund you,” said another worker.

“Forget it. You people are impossible “Sod off, she grabbed her drink and left. She played music from her phone speakers without headphones. She didn’t care if everyone heard her playlist.

I reached Gate 22 for my Rome flight. Of course, she returned.

FaceTime still. Still no headphones. Continued to let her dog bark at anything. Her legs were over one chair, her purse on another, and the dog on the third.

The man across from her said, “This can’t be real.” The girl stood and moved to another row. Two older passengers muttered, “Is she really on our flight?” They looked anxious, hoping she was passing through.

A toddler cried after the dog barked. Parents took the youngster and left without saying a word.

Nobody sat beside her. Nobody spoke. Exclude me.

I walked over and sat near her.

She looked at me sideways, as if I were another issue. I grinned. “Long wait, huh?”

She didn’t reply. Our dog barked at my shoe.

“Cute little guy,” I said.

“He dislikes strangers,” she whispered.

“I get it,” I answered. “Airports bring out the worst in everyone.”

She returned her call. I sat back and looked around. We were watched. Watching her. Watching me.

Looked exhausted. Hopeful. Curious.

I kept quiet. I knew my plan.

The commotion buzzed beside me as I sat silently. She shouted into her phone about a misplaced bracelet and “they’ll just have to send a new one.”

Her speech scratched my ears like a fork across glass. Someone dropped a plastic straw wrapper, which the dog started gnawing. No leash. No worries.

I noticed a couple beside the window. The man held a cane on his lap, while his wife held a boarding card like a bird.

Dog barked twice at them. Loud, sharp, abrupt. They recoiled. A woman murmured, and the man nodded. They stood slowly, gathered their belongings, and left.

The end. Nearly smiling, I breathed through my nose.

I recognized this woman from my customer service days. She would throw returns on the counter and say “Do your job” like a curse.

The kind of guy who stormed through life and expected others to clean up. I stood there blinking, hands locked by policy, as she requested to talk to a manager I didn’t like.

My mom stated, “The only way to deal with a bully is to smile and move smarter than they do.” I never forgot.

I was exhausted. After a tough month and week, this gate and moment felt like the perfect time to listen to Mom.

I heard the woman next to me screaming into her phone again. “No! Tell him I’m not paying! He can challenge it in court. I have screenshots!”

The dog sprung from its chair and barked again. High-pitched and continuous.

A gate agent peeked out to announce, observed the situation, and discreetly went back inside.

I rose.

Her angered gaze was slanted. “What now?”

I grinned. “Just stretching.”

Eyes rolling, she returned to her call.

After stretching, I strolled to the gate’s edge and leaned near the window. I waited long enough for her to assume I was gone. Long enough for my plan to work.

After walking back, I sat near her again and nonchalantly pulled out my phone.

“Flying to Paris for fun?” I inquired like old pals.

She halted mid-sentence. “What?”

I said “Paris,” indicating to the gate. “Are you going for work or vacation?”

She sneered. “I’m going to Rome.”

She frowned. “What?”

I answered “Yeah,” scrolling my phone like I was checking. I guess they changed it last minute. Please hurry. 14B is distant.”

Looked at the monitor. Look at me. Back to her phone. It wasn’t questioned. I didn’t confirm. Just said, “Unbelievable,” rose up, and threw stuff into her big bag. A dog barked. Finally, she ripped its leash and pulled it behind her.

Her voice echoed as she pounded. “Stupid airport. Nobody knows what they’re doing.”

Nobody stopped her. Not gatekeeper. Not exhausted passengers. Everyone watched as she disappeared into the crowd, cursing and tapping paws quietly.

Seating myself, I leaned back. Silence. No barking. Not screeching. Normal airport gate noise. The screen behind me read “ROME – ON TIME.” She never returned.

A soft rhythm. A quiet laugh followed. Somebody in the back laughed, which started another. Sound rolled through the gate like a soft wave. It was quiet, loving laughing that comes with relief.

A girl thumbed me up. A man across the aisle tipped an unseen hat. As the toddler played calmly with a toy truck, the mom smiled and said “thank you.”

Clapping was heard near the food kiosk. Once. Paused. Clapped again. Some joined in, unsure if they should, but the occasion didn’t need big applause. It required that modest acknowledgement that something had changed.

A window-side girl muttered, “Yay,” and hugged her pet bear. She saw her parents relax. When the gate agent returned to her podium, she appeared shocked and possibly thankful.

Several people looked at me. Rome gets only one JFK flight daily. Oops.