The cabin was buzzing with chatter as I settled into my first-class seat, easing down with my cane. That’s when
a sharply dressed businessman stopped, sneered, and muttered loudly, “Unbelievable. Even trash makes it into first class these days.”
My ears burned, but at 88, I’ve learned silence often preserves dignity. What I didn’t know was fate already had a reply waiting.
I wasn’t flying for pleasure. My best friend’s memorial was a promise I couldn’t break, and first class was necessity, not vanity—my
bones can’t handle economy anymore. I chose to ignore the insult, but the flight attendant, Clara, didn’t. She reminded him that every
passenger deserved respect. He sneered back, calling her “a waitress in the sky” and boasting he could have her job with one call.
The cabin grew tense—until the captain’s voice filled the air: “Before departure, I want to recognize a special guest.
The gentleman in seat 1A is the founder of our airline.” Applause thundered. Clara returned with champagne, eyes bright with respect.
Then came the captain’s final words: “Passenger in 3C will not be continuing with us today.”
Security escorted the businessman out as silence followed. I raised my glass, grateful—karma had spoken.