Blog challenge-Wednesday, June 11. You’re stranded at the airport for 6 hours without any electronic equipment. What do you do next?
I see everything. My surface is grazed by the heels of the rich and famous as well as common folk. I’ve been hit with steel, plastic, rubber, nylon, coated Teflon and chipped with all the colors of the rainbow. My co-workers and I are visited by women from the US, Netherlands, Europe, India, Asia, Africa, Australia, Canada, South America.
I’ve had drinks spilled on me and toothpaste mushed into my face. Kids scream at me and then wipe their boogers in my crevices. I’ve been felt by the most reverent and pious, to the disagreeable, rejected and rude ones. I’ve even been kissed by a lady who cried out, “we made it! I’m safe. I’m alive!”
It’s all the same to me. All in a day’s work.
Your feet kick at me, not to mention, some people think they can push past me with their sides and elbows, then with their rumps. I win over elbows. I laugh at their bottoms. I’ve seen all shapes and sizes of every kind of tuckas. Round, plump, narrow, over-worked, lumpy, tender, soft, forgotten, and implanted. Sleek, elegant, pampered. All of ’em. None can withhold their secrets from me. It’s just this power I have.
The workers here are the most aloof, yet they talk a lot. I’ve heard all their stories– about secret love affairs, who was late, who broke up, got married, who is in jail, which husband got strung out, owes money and was fired. Four regulars are pregnant. I’m familiar with the one who brings candy and gum for the others. I like the ones who indulge in a little bragging about their kids who made it to college.
I know who worked the longest days, turning into months, then years, without time off. I’m aware of who came all the way from Bosnia and managed to bring the whole family along with cousins, second cousins as well as a couple of stowaways. I’ve heard broken hearted women, new widows, and betrayed sweethearts, sobbing alone late at night. I’ve observed the old and tenderly frail, ever vigilant to their calculated steps. But what can I say? I’ve been fixed and replaced a few times in my career. I’m about due for a makeover.
My favorites are the sweet ones, the quiet types; they are tirelessly unassuming. Today it is Susie, who, by chance, is near me for about 360 minutes. She walks by briskly at first, in to do her thing. I catch a whiff of her scent, light musk with a hint of ambrosia…not too strong, but clean and enticing. I watch her as she hangs out at the Starbucks for hours, sipping green tea. She fervently writes longhand in a spiral notebook. She reads for hours. I want to call out to her, but she’s lost in her book. Then she gets up and walks around, I lose track of her. People rush past me over and over. Then there is a slow spell, and then a couple of big rushes.
Then I see her again. Back to the Starbucks. This time, she has coffee. Sometimes she looks around and watches people. I wonder if somebody loves her. There has to a special someone. I can feel it.
But what would I know? I am just the door to the ladies’ room at terminal four, Anywhere Airport, USA.
Copyright © 2014 by Susan E Rowland
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