On a flight, I started watching an action movie. The passenger next to me, with his son, tapped my shoulder, “Turn it off. My kid doesn’t need to see violence.” I switched it off, and he thought he won, until I reached into my bag and pulled out a worn, leather-bound notebook.
I didn’t say a word, just opened it and began to write, occasionally glancing up, a slight, knowing smile playing on my lips. His name, I later learned, was Gordon, and he was clearly the type who expected compliance without question. He settled back, adjusting his expensive-looking noise-canceling headphones, seemingly satisfied with his swift victory.
