CHAPTER 2: THE REVENGE AT 35,000 FEET
I looked around carefully.
Most passengers had noticed what was happening.
A few were visibly annoyed.
Others looked amused.
The young man behind me seemed proud of himself.
Like he was the king of the airplane.
Then I remembered something.
Before boarding, I had bought a large bottle of ice-cold tomato juice.
An idea formed instantly.
I pressed the call button.
A flight attendant arrived.
"Could I have a cup of ice?"
She smiled and brought one.
The guy behind me didn't pay attention.
His disgusting foot remained exactly where it was.
I slowly poured the ice cubes into my cup.
Then waited.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Fifteen minutes.
Eventually he fell asleep.
Head tilted back.
Mouth hanging open.
Snoring softly.
Perfect.
I casually adjusted my seat.
Then I accidentally tipped the cup.
The ice-cold water spilled directly onto his bare foot.
The reaction was immediate.
"WHAT THE—!"
He jumped so hard he nearly hit the ceiling.
Passengers around us burst into laughter.
His face turned bright red.
"My foot!"
He glared at me.
I looked surprised.
"Oh no."
"What happened?"
"You poured water on me!"
I shrugged.
"Close your foot."
Several passengers couldn't stop laughing.
The woman across the aisle nearly spit out her drink.
The young man was furious.
But the best part?
He finally removed his foot.
For about twenty minutes.
Then, unbelievably, he put it back again.
I couldn't believe it.
The guy had learned absolutely nothing.
This wasn't arrogance anymore.
It was stupidity.
The older gentleman beside me leaned over.
"Want some help?"
I looked at him.
"What do you mean?"
He smiled.
A very dangerous smile.
Then he opened his bag.
Inside was something that changed everything.
A small bottle of extra-strength muscle-relief spray.
The kind athletes use.
Menthol.
Strong enough to clear your sinuses from twenty feet away.
May you like
And suddenly...
A much bigger lesson began to take shape.
