Two hours into a flight from Oslo to New York, tension broke when a businessman erupted at a mother with a crying baby. “Can someone shut that thing up?” he snapped. When a flight attendant gently intervened, he hurled his beef stroganoff at her, staining her uniform. Her hands shook, eyes brimming with tears. No one reacted.
Except a 14-year-old boy beside me. Quietly, he stood, grabbed his backpack, and walked into business class. Moments later, he opened a jar and said casually, “Oops… just checking the seal on my grandma’s surströmming.”
Surströmming — fermented herring — smells so vile it’s banned in some places. Within seconds, the businessman was gagging and scrambling away. He was swiftly relocated to row 28, surrounded by babies and the stench of poetic justice.
The cabin applauded. The flight attendant, now changed, returned with cookies for the boy, who just sipped his apple juice.
“My grandpa says not to let rich jerks ruin your trip,” he later told me. “Almost lost the jar at security — but it’s under 100 milliliters.”
By landing, strangers were sharing snacks and stories. One kid, one stinky jar, and a reminder: cruelty doesn’t fly — but kindness (and cleverness) always does.
