Being one of the people who has to check in people on flights is an extremely difficult job. I hadn't ever really given that particular job any thought. I've never missed a flight, so I've never had to deal with the frustration of hoping that someone gets caught in a traffic jam or gets stuck in line. Today I missed my first flight. My ticket said departure was at 7:55, I showed up to the front desk at 7:47.
The door was closed.
I was the first person on standby, and the 12 people behind me were shit out of luck. They weren't happy. Not that I was excited to have missed my flight, but the attendants have a job to do. I was disappointed, angry at myself for always cutting it close. For a fleeting second I felt frustration towards the attendants; I used to be a server in a shitty italian restaurant, and I could see myself in them.
Three people complained to see a manager. The attendants knew the drill. They had been through this before. They were numb to the angry voices and the snooty attitudes.
I could see my self putting in an order for a paying customer, bringing it out, and having the comp their meal because it wasn't cooked correctly. Or the order had something extra that they insist they had asked not to be included, but was included anyways. I could see myself registering the words going through my ears. Not feeling anything, just registering. Like an automaton. I was the desk attendant. She doesn't have to comp people's meals, but she gets reemed day in and day out by those who missed their flight.
We were the people who couldn't set our alarms fifteen minutes early. We are the people who are entitled to having a seat on a plane, even though we missed the first boarding call.
I sat through two departures. At noon, my name was called to get on a flight to Dallas. I was the last person to board sitting in the very last row. I'll probably have to wait another four hours to get to my final destination.
At least I set my daily fantasy lineup. Wouldn't have if I made my flight. I cashed for the first time:
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