“Americans, I tell you.” He mutters, speaking into his phone’s microphone. Shaking his head as he explains to his mother about how some dumb American spilled a drink on him at the airport.

You are said American. You’re in London on work but you were upgraded to first class by a nice worker who saw your boss being rude to you.

He puts his carry-on in the overhead and takes a seat next to you. Shit. He thinks to himself when he realizes it’s you, and that you heard him talking to his mum.