In Seattle, the gate for my small prop-plane to Victoria was down at the end of a long causeway. Along this causeway were various other gates staggered along it’s length leading to similarly small planes. At the entrance of this causeway was a darkened stairway leading up to the left. It rose about a half dozen steps to a landing, and then doubled-back on itself and presumably continued on to the floor above. There were no indications that you should, for any reason, actually take these stairs to anywhere, and they were almost invisible, shrouded as they were in darkness. Glancing at them, however, I noticed an airline employee sitting in an uncomfortable chair on the landing, arms folded, staring through me into nothingness. It looked as if she’d been there for a long time, and had no intention or reason to move any time soon.

worst. job. ever.

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