Business class. A long flight. I’d booked my ticket in advance, securing a window seat—just wanting a quiet journey to work and unwind. Everything went as usual: passengers filled the cabin, suitcases were stowed in the overhead bins, and the flight attendants offered water.
I’d just settled in when a man in an expensive suit boarded. He carried a leather briefcase and strode confidently to his seat—right next to me. He glanced at the chair, then at me, his expression twisting into open disgust. Loudly, so everyone nearby could hear, he scoffed:
“What on earth is this? I paid for business class, not to be packed in like rush hour on the Tube!”
He rolled his eyes dramatically and shot me a disdainful look.
“I’m flying to an important conference. I need to prepare, and now I can’t even sit properly,” he muttered, dropping heavily into the seat beside me.
I knew exactly what—or who—he was referring to.
“Why do they even sell seats to people like *her*?” he grumbled under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
He sat down and immediately began jabbing me with his elbow, as if making a point. It wasn’t just painful—it was humiliating. I turned to the window, blinking back tears. I never expected someone who looked so polished to be so cruel.
The entire flight, he fidgeted, rustled papers, and sighed loudly—but said nothing more. I endured it. I was used to judgmental stares, but not such outright malice.
Yet by the end of the flight, something unexpected happened—and the man deeply regretted his behaviour.
As the plane landed and we began disembarking, my assistant from economy approached me. He gave a polite nod and said, “Mrs. Whitmore, shall we head straight to the conference venue after hotel check-in? Everything’s ready.”
The man beside me froze. I felt his stare. Once my assistant walked away, he suddenly spoke in a completely different tone:
“Excuse me… Are you attending the conference too? I heard a highly respected scientist is speaking—someone named Whitmore.”
“Yes,” I replied calmly, taking my bag, “that would be me.”
He faltered, turning pale, stumbling over words about how long he’d admired my work, how he’d heard of my lecture on cognitive technologies.
I merely smiled politely and stepped past him. He sat there, deflated, as if the air had been sucked out of him.
Perhaps now he’ll think twice before judging someone by their appearance.
