I live quite close to a major airport. My two-and-a-half-year-old son loves watching the planes that fly over every few minutes. One day, I decided to take him to the panorama terrace at the airport. We have a lovely morning and lunch there. But in the afternoon, the little guy gets tired, and it’s time to go home.

He does NOT want to go, so he’s not only tired but grumpy too. Any parent of a toddler knows the situation: it’s tantrum time. I check the train times and realise we can just about make the next train home.

So, there I am: an overweight, bearded dude power walking a screaming toddler across the airport plaza. Of course, I’m going to be stopped by a police officer duo.

Officer: “Is everything all right, sir?”

Me: “Yeah, we’re fine, I’m trying to catch a train.”

Officer: *Gesturing to my son.* “I understand, but real quick: what is he to you?”

Me: “He is my son.”

Officer: “Any way you can prove that?”

Now, in the Netherlands, it’s not mandatory for young children to have a government-issued ID with them, only when going abroad. But my kid is calmed down enough by the imposing two officers in front of us, so I can improvise a bit.

Me: *Pointing at my son.* “Who are you?”

Son: “[His Name].”

Me: *Pointing at myself.* “And who am I?”

Son: “Papa!”

Officer: “All right, have a nice day, sir.”

Me: “Thanks, you too.”

I made that train with seconds to spare.

I used to work at a regional airline. The jet we used for our flight to the “big city” had six business class seats. The business class service was amazing for a two-hour flight: a full bar service, a hot meal, a warmed breadbasket, followed by a dessert and signature coffee trolley. The good old days…

One of our regular travelers was a local business owner who was just… a slimy businessman. He had a reputation for making a lot of money from some pretty shady deals over the years. We would roll our eyes when we saw him coming to the check-in counter because he would always name-drop and ask for special treatment.

He always used the business class check-in line even though he was usually in economy. He didn’t have frequent flyer status, but he was buddies with one of the airline executives and always made sure to tell us that he was good friends with the vice president. He would always ask for free upgrades, extra baggage, no change fees, last-minute discounts, etc. If he didn’t get what he wanted, he immediately called the vice president, who would then call us and approve whatever it was he wanted.

One day, [Slimy Businessman] checks in for his flight to the “big city” and, of course, name-drops and asks for a free upgrade to business class.

Slimy Businessman: “I’m friends with [Vice President] and she said it would be okay to upgrade me.”

He was traveling on a discounted ticket that was not eligible for an upgrade even if he had an upgrade coupon, which he didn’t.

Me: “I’m sorry, but you are not eligible for an upgrade on this ticket.”

I gave him his boarding pass and sent him on his way. Of course, he flips open his cell phone and immediately calls the vice president. Within two minutes, the phone at the check-in desk rings, and it’s the vice president authorizing me to override the policy to upgrade him to business class with no upgrade coupon required—if there is room.

The flight that day wasn’t that busy, and only one person was booked in business class, leaving five open seats. I was really irritated, but I begrudgingly put him on the upgrade list anyway. He returned to the check-in counter, picked up his standby boarding card, and gave me that smug “told you so” look.

But then what the vice president said clicked with me, “if there is room.”

The next passenger I checked in was a super nice lady. Big smile, friendly, “please” and “thank you,” and “oh, thank you so much for checking my bags to my connecting flight, that’s so nice of you.”

Since it wasn’t that busy, we were chatting a bit. She was a teacher going on a trip to see her family. It was her first visit with them in over a year, and she was going to meet her new little nephew for the first time. She was overjoyed just to have the time off to travel.

I typed in a few things into the computer to make it look like I was checking something about her connecting flights, and then said:

Me: “Oh, you have been selected today to receive a free upgrade to business class.”

She was shocked.

Teacher: “I’ve never flown business class in my life! This is so amazing!”

At that time, we were rarely questioned if we upgraded someone without a certificate. Over the next twenty minutes, I found excuses to upgrade four other passengers: one who worked for one of our top corporate accounts, one who was legitimately a frequent flyer, and a few others. By the time I went to board the flight, I had to tell the slimy businessman:

Me: “I’m sorry, but business class is full, and I can’t offer you an upgrade today.”

The teacher I upgraded profusely thanked me again when she boarded with the rest of the business class passengers. Little did she know that it really made my day also!

There were no repercussions to my actions. We rarely upgraded passengers randomly, so it wasn’t something that caught management’s attention, and they mostly trusted our judgment on these things. But like many customer service jobs, if you were nice to us, we would go out of our way to help you. If you were not nice to us, we would apply the rules very strictly.

I’m working the TSA line, guiding passengers through trays and scanners. It’s busy but moving steady. My coworker is basically ‘Big Momma’ from the movies of the same name, down to every stereotype. A larger-than-life African American woman who is full of love but suffers no BS.

A passenger comes up rolling a carry-on and is already annoyed.

Passenger: “This is ridiculous. Shoes, belts, laptops, every time I fly, there’s something new!”

Me: “Same protocols as last time, sir. Nothing’s changed.”

Passenger: “Exactly. That’s the problem. It’s theater. You don’t need all this.”

Me: “We follow federal procedure.”

Passenger: “I travel every week. I know what’s actually necessary.”

He starts unloading reluctantly, muttering the whole time.

Passenger: “You people just like to make it harder than it has to be.”

He finishes tossing his items in the bin when ‘Big Momma’ has had enough and stands directly in front of him, separated only by the tray conveyor belt.

Big Momma: “Honey, cleared passengers catch flights; cleared throats catch delays. We here ’til 6 AM, you wanna still be here when I be done?”

I’m working at a check-in counter at the airport. Our airline hasn’t opened the counters yet, but we have lots of luggage weighing stations open for passengers to check if they’re overweight on their check-in luggage.

I see a mother and her adult daughter come by with their luggage. The daughter’s comes in at under, but the mother’s does not. Since I am standing close by and I’m in a uniform, it’s obviously my fault.

Customer: “This machine says my bag’s over by three pounds. That can’t be right.”

Me: “The scale here is regularly calibrated. If it says it’s three pounds over, I’m afraid that’s accurate.”

Customer: “Well… make it say something different.”

Me: “Sorry, I can’t override.”

Customer: “Why not?”

Me: “Well, it’s weight. It’s physics.”

Customer: “Unbelievable! So, what do you suggest I do? Throw out clothes I actually need?”

I glance at the suitcase, which is already bursting slightly at the seams. I don’t know how to respond, but the daughter comes to my rescue.

Customer’s Daughter: “Mom, leave her alone, she doesn’t even work for the airline. I told you that you didn’t need all those clothes! Put on some more layers and stuff some things into your pockets!”

Customer: “You might be comfortable waddling onto the plane like an overdressed armadillo, but I have some standards!”

Me: “Unfortunately, so does [Airline] when it comes to weight limits, and those are fifty pounds.”

Customer: “How much does it cost to add extra luggage?”

Me: “Well, I don’t work for [Airline], but the usual rate that I recall for a long-haul flight is $75.”

Customer: “…”

She opened her luggage and started layering…

Both my parents are divorced and live in two separate states. I live with my mom and grandparents in Nashville, Tennessee, while during school breaks, I visit my dad in Rochester, New York. I’ve flown alone since I was five, and when I turned thirteen, my parents said it was okay if I traveled without an escort on my layovers as long as I text them when I’m boarding and when I land. Fair enough.

This happened when I was sixteen.

I don’t look my age and never have. There’s a bad combination in my family: short genes and a baby face. I was lucky enough to inherit both. To give you a rough image, I’m a five-foot-tall girl who weighs about 125 pounds with a baby face, easy for people to mistake me as younger than I am. 

Flying was always the worst offense because I was alone. I also have bad anxiety and stutter a lot when I’m nervous, so it only adds to the age confusion.

I was coming back from New York and had a two-hour layover in Baltimore. I decided to get some food at Chipotle. While I was eating at the food court, minding my own business and scrolling through my phone, this middle-aged, white, blonde woman with her two kids walked up to me.

Woman: “Hi, honey, are you okay?”

Me: “Yes… Why do you ask?”

Woman: “Well, you seem young and you’re by yourself.”

Oh great, here we go again. This wasn’t the first time this happened, so I calmly told her that I was fine and thanked her for the concern. Well, apparently, she didn’t like my answer. Her tone soon changed from a caring, concerned citizen to demanding.

Woman: “You’re not fine, because you’re a minor by yourself and need adult supervision to fly!”

She was correct about the minor part, but the supervision part was BS. I was flying an airline that allows anyone twelve and older to travel by themselves, but someone is still supervising you on the flight until you’re fifteen.

Me: “I do not need adult supervision to be in the airport past security alone. I understand the confusion, but please leave me alone.”

Woman: “You’re lying.”

Me: “How?”

Woman: “I have kids, and I know the airport policy about minors.”

Me: “Clearly, you don’t. I’ve already said I’m fine; can you please leave me alone?”

Woman: “No, where are your parents?”

Me: “Doesn’t matter.”

Woman: “Yes, it does, I need to complain to them.”

At this point, I was getting annoyed. I didn’t want to tell her about the fact that my parents were divorced, but back then, I saw it as the only way for her to fully understand the situation and leave me alone.

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sixteen years old. My mom is in Nashville waiting for me, and my dad is in New York. Neither of them is in this airport, and they both know I’m by myself and are okay with it. I’m allowed to have a layover by myself, and I’m not considered an unaccompanied minor when I’m sixteen years old, according to the airline. Now, please leave me alone.”

Woman: “No, you’re lying.”

Me: “How am I lying?”

Woman: “I know you’re lying because I have children. I know how rebellious they are, and you are definitely not sixteen years old.”

I was getting mad at this point. For one, what right do you have to tell me how old I am? And secondly, your children look seven and five years old, a little too young to be going through a ‘teenage rebellion.’ I stood up, put my food in my bag, and told her:

Me: “I think I know how old I am.”

Woman: “Where’s your proof?”

I took out my driver’s license (looking back, I probably shouldn’t have, but I was desperate for her to go away) with not only my birthday but the fact I had one in the first place signified I was sixteen or older. I didn’t want to show this lady my other information, so I let her see the birthday and nothing more. She wasn’t going to swallow her pride and walk away.

Woman: “That still doesn’t excuse you from walking around the airport by yourself. How do I know you aren’t running away from home?”

I wanted to tell her that even if I was, it was none of her business. I repeated my airline’s policy to her and told her that if she still didn’t believe me, she could go on their website and check for herself or ask an employee.

I then repeated for her to leave me alone, or I’d get security. My bluff didn’t seem to affect her.

Woman: “You’re not going anywhere! You have to come with me and find your parents!”

I simply told her no and began reaching for my backpack. She grabbed my wrist and started pulling me. I yanked my wrist away, grabbed my backpack, and started running. At that point, people were watching, and her kids seemed distressed, but I didn’t care. I made a run for my gate.

Now I’m not very athletic, but I’m definitely faster than this overweight woman. I eventually made it to my gate and took a seat at one of the chairs. Still feeling uneasy, I told the lady at the gate what happened and that I was still shaken up.

She understood and said if she saw a woman matching the description near the gate, she’d make sure she didn’t come near me, and if she did, security would be alerted.

Well, turns out my gut was right, and after about an hour, I saw her looking around the different gates. I told the lady, and she nodded. She instructed me to get behind the desk as the woman approached.

Woman: “Excuse me, that child behind you is not allowed to be in the airport by herself!”

Gate Worker: *To me.* “Are you an unaccompanied minor?”

Me: “No.”

Gate Worker: “If she’s not an unaccompanied minor, then she can be in the airport by herself.”

Woman: “She’s lying, she can’t be sixteen, she showed me a fake ID.”

Gate Worker: “Oh really?” *Turns to me.* “Can I see your boarding pass?”

I gladly handed it to her. She reviewed it.

Gate Worker: “It looks fine. Can I see the ID you showed her?”

I handed her my driver’s license.

Gate Worker: “This also looks fine.”

Woman: “Hand her over to me so she can take me to her gate and find her parents!”

This scared me. I knew I wasn’t going anywhere with this woman, but it didn’t stop me from being scared.

Gate Worker: “Ma’am, is this girl your child?”

Woman: “No.”

Gate Worker: “Then I’m afraid I cannot give her to you, I can assure you she’s in good hands.”

Woman: “No, she’s not, because she’s rebellious and lying, I’m clearly more qualified to take care of her, considering I have children, and you don’t!”

That did it. At this point, I could feel a panic attack coming on. The nice gate worker must’ve noticed this.

Gate Worker: “Ma’am, either you go to your gate and leave this girl alone, or security will be called.”

Woman: *Huffing and puffing.* “You don’t know your own airline policies! I’ll be calling 911 for child endangerment, and your airline is going to get shut down for this!”

The lady at the desk only nodded. The gate lady offered to find her gate, inform them of what happened, and make sure she didn’t leave her gate to make me feel safer. I agreed, and we found out her gate was in the international terminal. Knowing this woman wanted to take me to a completely different terminal, the international terminal no less, made me even more scared, but I was assured everything was going to be alright.

Her gate was informed about the situation, and they said that they would make sure she wouldn’t leave the terminal once she arrived. It made me feel a lot better.

I’m nineteen and in college now, and still haven’t grown taller. I’m still a little shaken up from the whole thing, but I still fly on my own, and I make sure to carry around my ID and passport, and if anyone asked if I needed help, I’d quickly answer no and walk away. That may make me look more suspicious, but I don’t care, I’d rather come across rude than have to deal with another crazy woman.