Trapped in economy on a long-haul flight, Emily watches a business class man unleash cruelty — screaming at a mother, then hurling food at a flight attendant. As silence grips the cabin, a quiet 14-year-old beside her shifts in his seat… and sets a plan in motion.
I was two hours into a ten-hour flight from Oslo to New York, and already my neck was stiff as cardboard.
An airplane in the air | Source: Pexels
Economy class on international flights is a special brand of torture.
Earlier, one of the flight attendants had left the thin curtain separating economy from business class partially open. From my aisle seat, I could see through the gap to where the champagne flowed and legroom actually existed.
I wasn’t trying to look, honestly. But when someone starts yelling two rows ahead in Business Class, it’s hard not to notice.
Passengers on an airplane | Source: Pexels
His voice cut through the plane’s white noise like a knife. Sharp. Arrogant. A tone too polished to be anything but entitled.
“Can someone shut that thing up?” he barked at a young mother whose infant had been fussing. “Some of us paid extra for peace and quiet!”
That thing? Who spoke about a baby like that? I craned my neck for a better view.
A frowning woman | Source: Pexels
He was in his mid-50s, wearing a navy cashmere blazer, his expensive watch flashing with every exaggerated gesture. His polished loafers tapped impatiently against the floor.
The baby’s cries were nothing compared to the venom in his tone. I could see the mother’s hands trembling as she bounced her child in her arms.
The air around us turned tense and brittle.
A crying baby | Source: Unsplash
A flight attendant approached him. She was petite, early thirties, with a professional smile that looked stretched thin after what was probably a long day.
“Sir, please lower your voice,” she said softly. “The mother’s doing her best—”
“You people call this service?” He sneered, then with a lazy flick of his wrist, hurled his plastic container of beef stroganoff.
Beef stroganoff | Source: Unsplash
It splashed against the flight attendant’s crisp blue blouse. Thick brown sauce spread over the fabric, staining her collar and sleeve.
Gasps rippled through the cabin. The flight attendant froze for half a second, her cheeks flushing crimson.
Her chin trembled slightly. “Sir, that’s unacceptable.”
A flight attendant standing in the aisle | Source: Unsplash
He leaned back and raised his voice. “Couldn’t help it! Flight attendants like you scare passengers. Get lost — send your pretty coworker.”
My stomach turned as I watched the flight attendant’s eyes fill with tears. Heat crawled up my neck as my hands clenched into fists.
Around me, silence; tense, helpless silence.
A woman crying | Source: Pexels
The flight attendant turned on her heel and marched down the aisle. Tears were flowing down her cheeks as she passed me.
I turned to watch her from the corner of my eye as she made her way to the back.
Not one person stood up. Not one person said anything. Including me.
A pensive woman | Source: Pexels
And it didn’t stop there. The man continued to be a nuisance.
Business class hadn’t been very full to begin with, and as the flight continued, the few passengers surrounding him were relocated to other seats by the flight attendant.
Eventually, he sat alone: an island of privilege, surrounded by vacant space.
Seats on an airplane | Source: Pexels
“Can you believe that guy?” I whispered to no one in particular.
“Yeah. He’s a total jerk,” came a quiet voice beside me.
I’d barely noticed the boy sitting next to me. He looked around 14, with curly blond hair, pale skin, and an oversized hoodie.
A teen boy wearing a hoodie | Source: Pexels
His earbuds were out. His eyes had been following everything.
“Someone should do something,” I said, feeling immediately hypocritical. What was I doing besides whispering?
The boy nodded slowly, thoughtfully. Then, without any fanfare, he stood up.
An empty airplane seat | Source: Pexels
There was no dramatic declaration, no “hold my drink” moment, just deliberate movement. He reached above for the overhead bin and pulled down a green hiking backpack.
“Excuse me,” he said politely as he stepped past me into the aisle.
I watched, confused, as he walked straight through the curtain into business class.
The interior of a plane | Source: Pexels
No one moved. No one dared stop him.
What was this kid planning?
The boy stopped right next to the businessman and pulled a small jar from his backpack. The man glanced up, annoyed.
“What are you doing in business class? Go back to your seat,” he snapped.
A man glaring at something | Source: Pexels
Then I heard a soft pop.
“Oops,” the boy said, too casually. “Sorry sir, but you distracted me just as I was checking the seal on my grandma’s homemade surströmming. I seem to have spilled some of the brine…”
Have you ever seen someone’s face go from irritated to horrified in a split second? Because that’s exactly what happened.
A man gasping in shock | Source: Pexels
The businessman’s face turned a splotchy crimson. He leaped from his seat, gagging, and shouted, “GET ME OUT OF HERE!”
For those who don’t know (and I only knew because I’d visited Sweden, once), surströmming is fermented Baltic Sea herring. It’s often cited as one of the most foul-smelling foods in the world.
Some countries have actually banned opening cans of it in apartment buildings. That’s how bad it smells.
A can of surströmming | Source: Unsplash
A different flight attendant approached. This one wore a slightly different uniform, so I assumed she was a supervisor.
She was calm but firm. “Sir, the only seat available is in economy class.”
You should have seen his face. The horror, the indignity… the pure, unbridled offense that twisted his features was a sight for sore eyes.
A man covering his mouth with one hand | Source: Pexels
“Where?” he demanded.
“Row 28, middle section,” she replied.
I looked over my shoulder curiously. If my guess was correct, his new seat was right in the middle of four mothers and their six babies, most of whom were mid-wail.
A woman holding a crying baby | Source: Pexels
He stomped past me, mumbling curses under his breath.
I caught a whiff of expensive cologne trying (and failing miserably) to mask the fish stench now embedded in his blazer.
He slumped into his new seat, no longer elite, no longer loud. Just… defeated.
It started with a slow clap from somewhere in the back.
A woman clapping her hands | Source: Pexels
Then the whole economy section joined in. Polite, cathartic applause.
The flight attendant who’d been splashed with sauce gave a small, grateful smile.
The boy slid back into his seat beside me, face impressively neutral as he stowed his backpack in the overhead compartment once again.
“Did you plan that?” I asked, unable to keep the admiration from my voice.
A woman smiling at someone | Source: Pexels
He just shrugged, popping in one earbud. “My grandpa said never let rich jerks ruin your trip. They almost took my surströmming at security, but it’s under 100 milliliters, so… I got lucky, I guess.”
“We all got lucky,” I said, grinning. “What’s your name?”
“Elias,” he replied.
“I’m Emily. That was pretty brilliant, Elias.”
A woman smiling at someone | Source: Pexels
He smiled then, a quick flash that made him look his age. “The smell lasts for days, you know. Even on clothes. My dad made me sleep in the yard after I opened a can in our kitchen last summer.”
“Worth it?” I asked.
He glanced toward the back of the plane where the businessman was now wedged between crying infants.
“Definitely worth it.”
A smiling teen boy | Source: Pexels
A flight attendant — the one who’d been splashed earlier — stopped by our row. She’d changed into a clean blouse and was pushing the drink cart.
“Anything to drink?” she asked, but her eyes lingered on Elias with unmistakable gratitude.
“Apple juice, please,” he said.
A glass of apple juice | Source: Unsplash
When she handed him the plastic cup, I noticed she’d slipped him three extra packages of cookies. She winked at him, then at me.
“On the house,” she whispered. “Best flight I’ve had in years.”
The flight still had six hours left, but the air felt lighter somehow.
A view of clouds through an airplane window | Source: Unsplash
For the rest of the journey, passengers in economy shared snacks and stories. Someone broke out a travel chess set. A group in the back started a quiet card game.
It was as if we’d all bonded in our collective satisfaction at witnessing justice served with a side of rotting fish.
As we began our descent into New York, I glanced back at the businessman.
An aerial view of New York city | Source: Pexels
He was slumped in his middle seat, jacket rolled up as a makeshift pillow. He looked absolutely miserable.
“You know what I think?” Elias said, following my gaze.
“What’s that?”
“Some people forget they’re breathing the same air as everyone else.” He shrugged. “My grandma says sometimes they need a reminder.”
A thoughtful teen boy | Source: Unsplash
I laughed. “Your grandma makes some potent reminders.”
“You have no idea,” he said, grinning. “You should try her pickled herring.”
I made a mental note never to offend this kid or his grandmother. And resolved to be a little braver next time someone needed a stranger to stand up for them.
A thoughtful woman | Source: Unsplash
We can’t all carry jars of fermented fish, but we can all find ways to fight back against the bullies of the world.
The plane touched down with a gentle bump, and I felt oddly refreshed despite the long flight. There’s something energizing about seeing karma delivered in such a perfectly pungent package.
“Have a good trip in New York,” I told Elias as we waited to deplane.
A woman smiling at someone | Source: Unsplash
He nodded. “You too. And remember—”
“Always check the seal on the surströmming?” I finished for him.
“Exactly.”
Here’s another story: Six months after a painful divorce, Rachel is finally finding peace — and on her birthday, joy. But when her sister walks in holding hands with Rachel’s ex-husband, the celebration shatters. Betrayal, lies, and buried secrets erupt in a night no one will forget.
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.
