As I embark on the second leg of what will ultimately be thirty hours of travel, (including two ten-hour flights), I glance around the Virgin Atlantic terminal and see a lot of faces that look like I feel on the inside: anxious, impatient, unwilling to accept that long flights are simply a part of going somewhere far away. But after years of experience in the service industry, I already know that my irrational frustration will not get me there any faster, nor is it very likely to win me any points with the flight attendant who is about to check me in.

As I collect what little energy I have left to smile and speak with a tone that says “I really appreciate everything you do…and I’m not even a little bit annoyed that I checked in online and now I have to wait 45 minutes to NOT check a bag”, I notice that the man in front of me is already in the middle of an angry monologue about the wait. Obviously traveling on business, the man, who is holding a small suitcase that is clearly small enough for carry-on, suddenly looks horrified. Without a hint of emotion, the woman at the counter passive aggressively explains to the man that she can’t be sure the bag will fit until he puts in in the “simulated overhead compartment,” (which we all know is about half the size of the real deal). The man storms over and throws his bag in it, causing as much of a raucous as possible. She looks satisfied (if not smug), prints his boarding pass and finally sends him on his way, far more upset than he was when he arrived.

Somehow this invigorates me. Getting the opportunity to be nice to a service person who has just been wrongfully antagonized is one of my favorite things in life. Without having to fake it, I put on my biggest smile and greet her like we just might have been twins separated at birth, reuniting for the first time on reality TV. Her attitude changes immediately. When she asks if I need to check any bags, I say, “I’d really like to avoid it but only if YOU think it’s going to be ok.” Without missing a beat, she says, “Sweetie, you’re gonna be just fine.” Then I ask if there are any upgrades. First we joke about the $1,600 upgrade to first class, which is more than twice what I already paid for economy, then she tells me there is “extra leg room” for $20 or “exit row” for $60. I opt for the leg room since it seems like a pretty reasonable price, even though it will probably only amount to a few extra inches of space, if that. She prints me my new boarding pass and as I am about to pull out my credit card, she says, “Don’t worry about it.”

Don’t worry about it?! This woman doesn’t know me from Adam, and yet I just got upgraded for free, while someone who was clearly flying in a higher class than me barely made it through without a cavity search. And for what? For being the only person all day that didn’t project my own bulls*#t onto someone who has absolutely nothing to do with airline policies or the fact that the Earth is 12,000 miles from one side to the other.

The truth is, people in service have power. Even if you think YOU do because you are the one picking up the tab, that doesn’t mean that your experience can’t be comparatively awful. For all the years I spent as a server, I can’t tell you how many times I honestly forgot about tables that were blatantly rude, and ended up comping things for tables that were overtly friendly. You get what you give, and if you preemptively treat service people like s*#t because you are afraid you won’t get what you want, chances are you’ll continue to not get what you want, all the while assuming that the world is against you.

So, try being nice — so nice it makes you feel ridiculous — because you never know where it might lead. Now, I’m off to stretch out in my “extra leg room” and endure another ten hours of convincing myself I do not have to pee…I do not have to pee…I do not have to pee…