At JFK, I saw a woman loudly FaceTiming without headphones while her little dog pooped in the middle of the terminal. When a man politely pointed it out, she glared and snapped, “Some people are so damn rude,” and walked off, leaving the mess behind. It was the third time she’d done it since check-in.

She was rude to TSA, barked at a barista, and let her dog bark at everyone. Staff had spoken to her, but she brushed them off like she owned the place.

When I reached my gate – the flight to Rome – there she was again.

Everyone at the gate looked exhausted. Not from the travel – from her.

After hours of her yelling into FaceTime, blasting music without headphones, and letting her dog bark at every stroller, elderly person, or rolling suitcase, the entire terminal was fed up. You could feel the collective eye-twitch every time she opened her mouth.

So when people saw her sit at the gate, they either moved seats or silently prayed she wasn’t on their row. Some even whispered, “She’s really going to be on this flight?” and looked around in panic.

Everyone avoided her. Except me.

I sat right next to her with a calm smile on my face. I already knew what I was going to do.

I’m not confrontational by nature. I’m the type to say “sorry” when someone bumps into me. But this lady—who I later found out was named Darcy—was making everyone’s day worse. Not just with the noise and the mess, but with the entitled way she treated every person like they were beneath her. I’d seen enough.

So I said, real politely, “Headed to Rome too?”

She nodded without looking up from her phone. “Yeah. For business.”

Her dog barked at a baby two seats over. She didn’t flinch.

“Oh, cool,” I said. “I’m flying for work too. Actually, I’m a behaviorist. Mostly with dogs, but sometimes people.”

She paused. “What’s a behaviorist?”

“Well,” I said with a smile, “I observe actions, patterns, and triggers. Then I help correct behavior. It’s amazing how often dogs and people share the same… responses.”

That got her attention. She looked at me sideways, frowning.

“You saying I act like a dog?”

I laughed. “Not at all. But your dog is a reflection of you. It’s wild how dogs mirror our moods. Anxious owner? Anxious dog. Aggressive energy? Reactive pup.”

She shifted in her seat.

I wasn’t being smug—I was being strategic.

Then, still looking at her screen, she said, “Well, he’s a rescue. He’s sensitive.”

“So are most rescues,” I nodded. “But you know what helps? Consistency. Clear boundaries. A calm environment.”

Her brows furrowed. I could feel the wheels turning. That was step one—disarm with curiosity, not judgment.

I pulled out a small dog treat from my bag—always have one on hand—and gently offered it to the dog, who took it eagerly.

“What’s his name?”

“Pablo.”

“Hi, Pablo,” I said warmly. “You’re a good boy, huh?”

He wagged his tail for the first time all day.

She blinked. “He’s not usually like this.”

“Oh, I believe it,” I said. “Dogs pick up on how we’re doing. And today’s been… a stressful one, yeah?”

She scoffed. “More like annoying. Everyone’s acting like I’m the problem.”

I nodded slowly, not agreeing—but giving her space.

“People can be really reactive,” I said. “Especially in crowded places. But you know what usually helps? Leading with softness. Just like with dogs. Loud commands? Tension rises. But steady, respectful energy? Everything calms down.”

She looked at me for a long second. “You’re weird.”

I grinned. “Yup. And Pablo seems to like it.”

We boarded not long after. The flight attendant walked over and asked her politely to secure her dog in the carrier until takeoff.

Normally, I bet she would’ve snapped. But this time? She sighed, then actually complied. Just zipped Pablo in, no drama. The flight attendant gave me a look like, what just happened?

I shrugged.

Darcy sat next to me the whole flight. For the first hour, she scrolled her phone in silence. No FaceTime. No blasting music. Then, mid-flight, she turned to me and said something I didn’t expect.

“You know… my ex used to say I bulldozed people. I told him I just don’t have time for sensitivity.”

I stayed quiet.

She continued, “But maybe he wasn’t totally wrong.”

She told me a little about herself. PR exec. High-pressure job. Hadn’t taken a vacation in five years. Pablo was a last-minute adoption after a breakup.

“Maybe I’m just tired,” she muttered. “And angry. All the time.”

I looked at her and said gently, “You’re allowed to feel tired. But if you make everyone else pay for it… you’re not really resting. You’re just spreading the weight.”

That landed.

She didn’t say much after that. But when we landed, she held the door open for the elderly couple behind us. She smiled at the flight attendant. She even picked up Pablo’s carrier without complaint.

Three days later, I was sipping espresso in Trastevere when I saw a familiar barky little dog strutting down the street.

It was Pablo.

Darcy followed behind, calmer, walking slower, holding her phone in her bag. She saw me and actually waved.

No dramatic FaceTime. No yelling. Just a peaceful stroll.

Sometimes people lash out because they’ve never been taught another way. Doesn’t make it right—but it makes it human.

And every now and then, instead of avoiding the loudest person in the room… sit next to them. You might just surprise them—and yourself.

❤️ If this made you smile, like and share it. You never know who might need a gentle nudge toward kindness today.