Flight Etiquette and Poetic Justice at 30,000 Feet

The turbulence hit about an hour into the flight — the kind that made coffee tremble in plastic cups and passengers grip their armrests. The seatbelt signs blinked on, and I leaned toward Teddy. “You still have that gin?”
He eyed me warily. “Maeve…”
“Trust me.”
I took the cup, waited for the flight attendants to move past, and quietly tipped the remaining gin under the rude passenger’s seat — right where her tote had been. Within seconds, the sharp, unmistakable scent filled the air.
“Ugh!” she groaned. “It smells like alcohol!”
Her friend wrinkled her nose. “Girl, did you spill something?”
“No! I didn’t!” she snapped.
A flight attendant reappeared. “Is there a problem?”
“This area smells like gin!”
The attendant sniffed the air, frowned, and said, “Ma’am, if you brought alcohol on board, it must remain sealed.”
“I didn’t bring any!”
“I’ll need to inspect your bag,” the attendant said firmly.
The woman’s face turned crimson. As she handed over her soggy tote, whispers rippled through the nearby rows. The attendant examined it, sighed, and said, “It’s wet — and it does smell like gin. Please keep your belongings secure, ma’am.”
The humiliation was complete. The woman slumped back, red-faced, silent. Her feet never lifted from the floor again.
When we finally landed, she glared daggers at me as passengers stood to disembark. “You did that on purpose,” she hissed.
I turned and smiled sweetly. “You mean… respecting personal space?”
Before she could reply, the same flight attendant appeared. “Ma’am, you left some wet napkins under your seat. Please clean your area before you exit.”
The woman muttered curses and bent down to pick them up. Teddy and I walked off the plane hand in hand.
In the terminal, he finally broke into laughter. “You’re something else, Maeve.”
“I’m just preserving civilization,” I said. “One bare foot at a time.”
That night, Teddy showed me a Reddit post titled ‘Some psycho poured water on my bag during a flight today because I had my feet up.’
I nearly choked laughing. “That’s her!”
He grinned. “You’re famous now.”
“Good,” I said. “Maybe she’ll learn manners.”
Sometimes, grace works. Sometimes, patience does. But sometimes, when civility fails at 30,000 feet, poetic justice takes the pilot’s seat.
Because respect, like common courtesy on a plane, shouldn’t have to be requested twice.