She let her dog poop on the airport floor, yelled at staff, and blasted music with no headphones. But by the time we got to the gate, I gave her a reason to walk away—and she never came back. JFK was a mess that day. Flights delayed, people stressed, and then she arrived—FaceTiming at full volume, dog in tow, rhinestone collar and all. Right in the middle of the terminal, the dog squatted and did its business. When a kind old man tried to let her know,
she snapped, “Mind your business, Grandpa.” She didn’t clean it up. “They have people for that,” she said, walking away. It only got worse. At TSA, she cut the line, argued about taking her boots off, and barked about her dog’s anxiety. Then at the coffee stand, she yelled at the barista for not having almond milk, stormed off with her drink, music blasting from her phone. At the gate?
