A mean stranger on a flight had everyone on edge, from her fellow passengers to the flight attendants! She kept ruffling feathers, mistreating people, and taking liberties as she wished! However, little did she know that she was going to leave the plane in tears!
An upset woman wearing headset while screaming on a flight | Source: Freepik
Hi all, Miranda here. I have a story to share with you about a stranger who misbehaved on a flight thinking she could get away with it. But me and my fellow passengers put her in her place!
See, I’ve been traveling quite a lot lately, but my most recent flight has to have been the craziest! I generally tend to book rows six or seven when I can because they aren’t too expensive. The other thing I like about the rows is that they’re close enough to the front to make them convenient.
A woman on a phone seated next to a man on a plane | Source: Freepik
Today, while walking through the congested aisles of the plane, I settled into what I believed was my assigned seat, 7D. On my way out, I was in 7F, and in my mind, I believed 7D was my return seat.
Mistakes happen, especially when you’re a frequent flyer like me who can’t seem to keep track of seat assignments. It was a minor hiccup — or so I thought until she arrived.
An annoyed-looking woman holding luggage | Source: Freepik
As the woman approached to claim my row, she believed she had the aisle seat. Without noticing that I was in the wrong row, I told her, “No, that’s my seat,” and politely stood up to let her in.
However, I eventually realized when the row became congested that I had misread my ticket. But the correction was met with unexpected vehemence.
“YOU ARE THAT STUPID THAT YOU CHOSE the wrong seat!” she screamed, her face contorted with irritation.
I scrambled to retrieve my bag, attempting to calm the brewing storm. But my sincere apologies fell on deaf ears. “People like YOU should not be allowed on flights!” she ranted.
A woman holding a phone while seated on a plane | Source: Pexels
Not wanting to worsen the situation, I said nothing as I scurried to my correct row. Little did I know that her bad behavior was about to get worse!
Her temper was a fuse, lit and unstoppable! Within less than ten minutes of peace, after we ascended, her barrage began. She yelled at a flight attendant, “This meal is atrocious! How dare you serve this?” over food SHE CHOSE HERSELF before hurling the plastic tray like a frisbee!
It wasn’t just the objects she threw; words, sharp and cutting, followed each action. Each utterance and behavior was more shocking than the last! No one was safe as she attacked, dissed, and threw tantrums at flight attendants and other passengers alike!
A plate of food on a flight | Source: Unsplash
A nearby passenger tried to intervene, “Hey, calm down, lady. There’s no need to treat people like that,” only to receive a splash of water and a tirade. “You think you can ignore ME? I’ll show you what happens!” she shrieked, punctuating her rage with kicks to his seat.
Literally, everyone on the flight hated this woman’s guts!
The cabin was aghast, whispers swirling like a storm. “Can you believe her?” “Somebody should do something!” The tension was palpable, a collective breath held in anticipation of her next outburst.
A flight attendant walking on a plane | Source: Pexels
As the flight drew on, the guy in front of me, the one who got soaked, passed me a note. He’d quietly hatched a plan and was trying to get the other passengers on board. My face lit up with a smirk as I read the note that said:
“Read and pass it on when she gets up to go to the exit, upon landing we’ll get up and see her off shouting…”
The rest of the note instructed us to shout, “Passenger 7D, you are unbearable. Learn to behave, not like a Neanderthal!” I won’t lie, I giggled a bit as I read the note!
A woman reading a note | Source: Pexels
At that moment, I knew the rude woman wasn’t going to get away with her messy ways as I passed the note on! Words and notes between the rest of the passengers passed along in hurried whispers.
We were united by circumstance, an impromptu alliance formed at 30,000 feet! The excitement among us was so palpable. I wondered, “Does this woman notice that something’s happening around her?”
But she remained oblivious, too focused on being mean to see the obvious.
Flight attendants dealing with passengers | Source: Unsplash
Our conspiratorial spirits lifted as the wheels touched down! The woman quickly stood, presumably to make a swift exit without being deterred by the rest of us. But just before leaving someone got up in front of her, obstructing her way.
This stopped us from our plan as she was now amid another hysteria. Suddenly, an unexpected hero turned up to save us all! The main pilot had made his way towards her and unknown to her, he was standing right behind her.
An upset woman standing with her luggage | Source: Freepik
Speaking loudly to get her immediate attention, he says, “I apologize for all the inconvenience you’ve suffered on this flight.” Thinking she was going to get away with all the abuse she’d exposed us to, some of us wanted to speak up.
But the pilot held his hand up. A smile flashed across the woman’s face for a moment. “For the inconvenience, you will be given a discount on your next flight with our airlines.” At this moment the hysterical woman speaks, saying:
“Yes, and I also want to be transferred to business class and get my money back for this flight.”
A rude woman pointing at someone | Source: Freepik
But the next moment she turns pale when he says “Woman, did you think I was addressing you? Noooo, I was talking to other passengers.” Facing her directly he added, “But something else awaits you.”
He continued, “Upon arrival, airport security is already waiting for you. Someone told them that you managed to bring dangerous objects onto the plane.” The shock on her face mimicked the expressions we all had!
A shocked woman | Source: Getty Images
“And if you don’t apologize RIGHT NOW, I will make sure that you are blacklisted as a passenger and you will no longer be able to fly!” he insisted to our delight!
Looking back at the people she was sitting with on the plane, including the flight attendants, it was obvious she was torn. Her face, once twisted in anger, crumpled under the weight of the reprimand.
A pilot standing in front of a flight attendant | Source: Freepik
At that moment, it became clear that she was human like the rest of us and could feel pain as well!
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she said softly, “I am sorry for how I behaved during the flight and I promise to do better in future.” Looking up at the pilot, he flicked his head in the direction of the exit, as to say, “Apology sufficient, you may leave.”
The woman rushed towards the exit. Each step hastened until she was running out!
A woman’s mascara running as she cries | Source: Getty Images
As silence fell and we collected ourselves, there was a surreal moment of reflection. The ordeal had transformed us, passengers bound by an unwelcome drama into a united group determined to get revenge.
We exchanged looks of disbelief and relief; the shared adversity had morphed into an unlikely bond. The collective was finally free from our tormentor! Seeing the glee on the faces of the flight attendants and the other passengers the woman had harassed, we couldn’t help but give a collective shout!
People clapped their hands at our victory, and it felt like justice was served that day!
A pilot shaking hands with a passenger | Source: Pexels
As we got off the plane, each person either shook the pilot’s hand or gave him a warm hug!
Waiting for my baggage I realized that the flight exemplified the highs and lows of human nature. It was a reminder of the thin line between order and chaos. In the crowded confines of a plane, we navigated more than just the skies by traversing the complex landscape of societal norms.
I felt proud to be a human being that day, and what started as a bad flight, ended off on a high note (pun intended)!
A happy woman seated at the airport | Source: Pexels
Well, that nasty woman seems to have gotten exactly what she deserves! In the following story, another rude woman gets put in her place when she tries bullying a young boy on the subway. Read on for all the delicious drama and the link to the story has more thrilling tales inside!
Sassy Mom Picks on Teen in Subway – The Boy’s Mother Put the Stranger in Her Place!
Let’s dive into the drama that unfolded one unusually warm spring afternoon. So, Sabrina was just chilling on her daily subway commute, navigating the sweet spot of crowdedness—enough people to feel the city vibe, but still some breathing room.
A woman sitting on the subway | Source: Pexels
Now, picture this: At the back of the subway car, there’s this kid, around 11 or 12, totally zoned out into his phone. He’s sitting in one of those priority seats meant for the elderly or those with disabilities.
Enter stage right, a woman bursts through the subway doors, towing a little kid in tow, and spots the boy in the seat. Her glare could’ve melted steel, but the boy? Oblivious, still glued to his screen.
A woman holding a child about to board the subway | Source: Pexels
Cue the confrontation. The woman strides up, launching into a tirade about the boy taking up a reserved seat when he seems perfectly fit. The subway audience is all ears, almost siding with her, until—plot twist—the boy’s mom steps in.
Calm yet fierce, she hints at an impending regret for the accuser. The boy then reveals his prosthetic limb, silencing the car in one swift motion. The angry woman, now embarrassed, beats a hasty retreat at the next stop.
A boy using his phone while seated | Source: Pexels
This unexpected subway saga leaves everyone, including Sabrina, musing on how quick we are to judge without knowing the full story. It’s a reminder that behind every scene in the bustling backdrop of city life, there’s often more than meets the eye. How’s that for a slice of daily drama?
An embarrassed woman on the subway | Source: Freepik
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
I Found Photos of Me with a Newborn, but I Don’t Remember Ever Being Pregnant
I opened a box of forgotten photos while cleaning the attic and found pictures of me holding a tiny newborn, my eyes brimming with love. But I’d never been pregnant, let alone given birth. I decided to investigate, unaware I must face a truth that would shatter me to the core.
A few weeks ago, I was cleaning the attic when I pulled an old box from the shelf. It was labeled “Photos – Keep” in my handwriting, though I had no memory of marking it. Dust motes danced in the bright light as I nervously opened the box.
An old box on the floor | Source: Midjourney
Inside, memories spilled out in glossy 4×6 prints: my college graduation with Mom and Dad beaming beside me, our wedding day with Daniel spinning me around the dance floor, and countless summer barbecues at the lake house.
Then, everything STOPPED.
There I was, in a hospital bed, cradling a newborn baby. My hair was plastered to my forehead with sweat, dark circles under my eyes, but my expression… I was gazing at that tiny bundle with such raw, pure love that it took my breath away.
A person holding a newborn baby | Source: Unsplash
More photos followed — me holding the baby against my chest, touching its impossibly small fingers, crying as I looked into its face. In another, I was feeding the baby, my finger trapped in its tiny fist.
But that was impossible. I’d never had a baby. Never been pregnant. NEVER. Then how was this possible?
I sank to the attic floor, surrounded by the scattered photos. My hands shook as I examined each one closely, searching for signs of manipulation or editing.
But they were real… the paper was aged and the corners slightly worn.
A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
In one picture, a distinctive mustard-yellow chair sat in the corner of the hospital room, and the curtains had an odd geometric pattern I recognized.
It was St. Mary’s Hospital, the same hospital where we’d visited my aunt after her hip surgery last year.
Daniel was at work, and I was grateful for the solitude as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. These photos showed a moment that should have been the most significant part of my life.
But I remembered nothing. Not a single second.
A mustard-yellow chair in a room | Source: Midjourney
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking as I gathered the photos and grabbed my car keys as soon as Daniel left for work the following morning.
I didn’t ask him anything as I wanted to find out about this mysterious baby on my own.
The hospital parking lot was nearly empty at 11 a.m. on that pleasant Tuesday. I sat in my car for five minutes, clutching the photos to my chest and trying to gather the courage to go inside.
A young mother walked past pushing a stroller, and my chest tightened with an emotion I couldn’t name.
A woman pushing a baby stroller | Source: Pexels
The reception area smelled of antiseptic and floor cleaner. A young woman with bright blue scrubs and a butterfly-shaped name tag looked up as I approached.
“Hi,” I said. “I need to access some old records of mine.”
“Look at this,” I then added, showing her the pictures. “Whose baby is this? Why am I holding it? I don’t remember anything. What’s happening?”
Without answering, she typed something on her phone and then frowned at her screen. Her fingers paused over the keypad.
“One moment, please!” she said, disappearing into a back office, whispering urgently to someone.
A hospital staff in scrubs | Source: Pexels
An older nurse emerged, her hair pulled back in a neat bun, her name tag reading “Nancy, Head Nurse.” Her eyes held a mix of concern and recognition that made my stomach twist.
“Miss, we do have records for you here, but we’ll need to contact your husband before we can discuss them.”
My stomach dropped. “What? Why?”
“Hospital policy, in cases like this. Please, let me call him now.”
A hospital staff holding documents | Source: Pexels
“No, these are my medical records. I have a right to know—”
But Nancy was already picking up the phone, her eyes never leaving my face. She dialed, and I heard the ring through the receiver.
“Sir? This is Nancy from St. Mary’s Hospital. Yes… your wife Angela is here requesting access to some medical records. Yes… I see… Could you come down right away? Yes, it’s about that… Thank you.”
A nurse holding a smartphone | Source: Pexels
My hands clenched into fists. “You know my husband? You have his number?”
“He’ll be here in 20 minutes. Would you like some water while you wait?”
“No. I want answers.”
I sank into a plastic chair, the photos clutched to my chest.
Every minute that ticked by on the waiting room clock felt like an eternity. When Daniel finally arrived, still in his work clothes, his face was ashen. He’d clearly driven here at full speed.
“Angela??”
A startled man in a hospital | Source: Midjourney
“What’s going on, Dan? Why do they have your number? Why won’t they talk to me without you?”
He turned to Nancy. “Is Dr. Peters available?”
The doctor’s office was small, with certificates covering one wall and a small window overlooking the parking lot. Dr. Peters was a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and worry lines around her mouth. She folded her hands on her desk as we sat down.
“Tell her,” Dr. Peters said. “Your wife deserves to know everything.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Know what? What’s going on?”
A doctor in her office | Source: Pexels
Daniel leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Six years ago, my sister Fiona came to us with a request. Do you remember how long she and Jack had been trying to have a baby?”
“Your sister? What does she have to do with this?”
“The fertility treatments weren’t working. The IVF failed three times,” he swallowed hard. “She asked if you would consider being her surrogate. And you said… yes.”
The world tilted sideways. “No. That’s not… I would remember that. A pregnancy? Being a surrogate? No, I wouldn’t—”
A shocked woman looking up | Source: Midjourney
“You were so determined to help her, Angel. You said it was the greatest gift you could give your sister-in-law. The pregnancy went perfectly. You were glowing and so happy to be helping them. But when the baby was was born—”
Dr. Peters spoke up. “You experienced a severe psychological break after delivery, Angela. The maternal hormones and bonding process were stronger than anyone anticipated. You refused to let go of the baby. When they tried to take him to Fiona, you became hysterical.”
I pressed my hands against my temples. “Stop. Please stop.”
Grayscale shot of a newborn baby | Source: Unsplash
“Your mind protected itself,” Dr. Peters explained gently. “It’s called dissociative amnesia. Your psyche built a wall around the memories to shield you from the trauma of the separation. In cases of severe emotional distress, the mind can—”
“You’re telling me I forgot an entire pregnancy? A whole baby? That’s not possible! I would know. My body would know. My heart would know.”
“Angel,” Daniel reached for my hand. But I jerked away so violently my chair scraped against the floor.
Portrait of a distressed man | Source: Midjourney
“Don’t touch me! You knew? All this time, you knew? Every time we talked about maybe having kids someday, every time we walked past a baby store… you knew I had carried a child? Given birth? And given him away like he was some freaking toy?”
“Where is he?” I demanded, my throat raw and eyes red-rimmed from crying.
“Fiona moved to the countryside shortly after. The doctors thought the distance would help you recover.”
A teary-eyed woman | Source: Unsplash
“So everyone just decided?” I laughed. “Everyone just chose to let me forget my own—” I couldn’t say the word. Couldn’t acknowledge what I’d lost. “Six years? Six birthdays, first steps, first words?”
“We thought we were protecting you.”
“By lying? By watching me live in ignorance? Did you all get together and plan this? Have meetings about how to keep me in the dark?”
“By letting you heal,” Dr. Peters interjected softly. “The mind can only handle so much pain, Angela. Your psyche chose this path for a reason.”
A frustrated woman | Source: Pexels
I dashed out of the hospital as fast as my legs could carry me. Daniel caught up, ushering me into the car. I was a total mess. My fragile heart was shattered beyond repair.
That night, I slept in our guest room, surrounded by the photos.
I studied each one until my eyes burned, trying to force my mind to remember. The way I touched his tiny face. The tears on my cheeks. The love in my eyes.
I pressed my hand against my stomach, trying to imagine him there, growing, moving, being part of me. But nothing came back. Nothing.
A sad woman sitting on the bed | Source: Pexels
“Can we see him?” I asked Daniel the next day.
“We should probably ask Fiona first,” he said, his voice uncertain. “But if you’re sure, I think she’ll be okay with it.”
It took a week to convince Fiona to let us visit. Seven days of negotiations through Daniel, because I couldn’t bear to speak to her directly. Not yet.
How do you talk to someone who has your child? Who took your child?
After countless phone calls and messages, Fiona finally agreed.
A man talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
The drive to the countryside was endless. I watched the landscape change through the window, each mile bringing me closer to a truth I wasn’t sure I could face.
Fields gave way to forests, forests to suburbs. All the while, my mind spun with questions.
Would he look like me? Would some part of him recognize me? Would I feel anything at all? Would he come running to me?
Aerial view of a car on the road | Source: Unsplash
Fiona’s house was everything I’d imagined during those sleepless nights. Perfect lawn, flowers in window boxes, a red bicycle leaning against the porch, and a tire swing. Wind chimes tinkled softly and the delicious smell of something cooking wafted in the air.
My legs shook so badly I could barely walk to the door.
Fiona stood there, just as I remembered her from the family pictures. But her eyes were cautious, teary, and guarded, like a watchful mother’s.
“Angela,” she said softly. “Come in.”
A teary-eyed woman looking at someone | Source: Pexels
My gaze swept across the room, searching for the little one who held the key to my forgotten past.
And there he was, peeking around the corner. Dark curls like mine and those familiar eyes. My heart squeezed so tight I couldn’t breathe.
My son! My baby! I longed to scream, to run to him, to hold him tight. But I stood rooted to the spot, numb with heartache.
“Tommy,” Fiona called, “come meet your Aunt Angela.”
A little boy wearing a hat | Source: Unsplash
He approached shyly, a toy dinosaur clutched in one hand. “Hello, Aunt Angela.”
“Hello, Tommy!” I said, his name feeling like a prayer on my tongue.
He studied me with those big, brown eyes, head tilted slightly. “Want to see my room? I have a bunk bed! And a T-Rex that roars when you push its belly.”
“I’d love that, sweetie.”
A woman with her eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney
As he led me upstairs, chattering about his dinosaur collection and his best friend Jake and how he could ride his bike without training wheels now, I felt it.
Not a memory exactly, but an echo. A ghost of what we might have been. Of all the moments I should have had.
Later that night, in our hotel room, I took out the photos one last time. The woman in them wasn’t a stranger anymore. I understood her joy, her pain, and her sacrifice even if I couldn’t remember feeling them myself.
A woman holding a newborn baby | Source: Unsplash
I touched the image of the baby, my finger tracing his tiny photostatic features.
“You okay?” Daniel asked from the doorway.
“No. But I think I will be.”
I slipped the photos back into an envelope. Some memories might stay lost and buried under years of protective fog. But now I had something more precious than memories: I had truth. And somehow, in that truth, I found the peace I didn’t know I’d been missing.
It would take time to fully come to terms with my truth, but this was a step in the right direction.
A woman holding an envelope | Source: Pexels
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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