Within ninety seconds the purser arrived—tall, calm, zero patience left in his body. By then half the plane was offering their footage like it was a class-action lawsuit signup sheet.
Long story short: gate security came onboard. Vanessa’s performance went from indignant to bargaining to silent panic in the span of about four minutes. The officer didn’t even have to touch her; the reality of being escorted off in front of 180 strangers did the job.
As they walked her up the aisle she hissed over her shoulder, “This isn’t over. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
I just wrung out my shirt onto the carpet and said, loud enough for the rows around me to hear, “Looking forward to the discovery phase.”
The door closed. The plane erupted in the kind of applause usually reserved for emergency landings that don’t kill anybody.
A flight attendant brought me warm towels and a first-class amenity kit like I was the victim of some VIP hostage situation. The captain came on the PA a minute later: “Folks, we apologize for the delay. We’ll be pushing back shortly… and cocktails are on us for the duration of the flight.”