At 88, I rarely fly, but when my childhood friend passed away, I booked a first-class seat—my back and knees can’t handle coach anymore. Boarding was slow, but I settled in gratefully.
A businessman paused in the aisle, sneered, and muttered, “Unbelievable… they’ll let anyone sit here now.” My ears burned, but I said nothing. When the flight attendant, Clara, defended me, he mocked her as “just a waitress in the sky.” The cabin went tense.
Then the captain’s voice came over the intercom: “Before we depart, I’d like to recognize a special passenger. The gentleman in 1A is the founder of our airline. Without him, none of us would be here today.” Applause filled the cabin as Clara returned with champagne, thanking me warmly.
Moments later, the captain added, “And the passenger in 3C will not be joining us today. Security, please escort him off the plane.” His protests echoed uselessly down the aisle. I sipped my champagne, smiling.
Sometimes, dignity says more than anger ever could.
