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Darby

Business Class

Anotherprerecordedairportannouncementmakes it nearly impossible to hear the person on the other end of my phone call. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that, please?”

The wheel of a haphazardly driven stroller scrapes the back of my ankle as I weave my way through the crowd to stand by the windows, where I will hopefully not be trampled.

I’ll probably get better reception over here, anyway.

As soon as I stake my spot and come to a stop, my travel tote slips off my shoulder, landing heavy in the crook of my elbow and causing hot coffee to slosh through the little plastic sipping hole onto my hand. “Holy shit! That’s ridiculous.”

The customer service rep’s voice breaks up again, but I make out the words.Cursingandnot ridiculous.

“Not you. The coffee. It’s ridiculously hot.” I shake droplets away and wipe the back of my hand on my pants. “Can we stay on topic, please?”

Her voice comes through loud and clear now, but she is definitely being ridiculous. Allowing myself a steadying breath before I respond, I stare down at workers on the tarmac outside—all bundled up and huddled together.

Why do they have to stay out there? There are no planes coming or going. It seems like they should at least be able to come inside and get warm.

“No,” I say, answering the customer service rep’s latest question. “Of course, I don’t expect you to be able to control the weather!” I respond louder than I intend, but nothing about the way the airlines are handling this makes any sense. “But I am a business traveler, and I do expect you to have some sort of priority list for rescheduling!”

Never mind that I’m not traveling for business today. She doesn’t need to know that.

I pause to take a tiny slurp of my lava-hot coffee before I start to really yell, and not only due to the airline’s ineptitude, but this has got to be the loudest airport I’ve ever been in. Every gate is filled with victims of canceled flights.

“Do you have any idea what we’re dealing with here? There are people standing outside in a blizzard for no reason, babies are crying, I’m pretty sure the couple next to me at the bar a few minutes ago was outlining the terms of their divorce on a cocktail napkin, and all I’m asking from you is—”

I’m assaulted again, this time by the guy next to me swinging his backpack up from the floor as he turns to walk away, never even looking back to apologize. I know he knows he hit me with that thing. Jerk.

“Hello? Hello?” She fucking hung up on me? Unbelievable.

No one cares about anyone else anymore. We are an entire society of ruthless assholes.

Nobody in this terminal knows I got fired today—even though I feel like it’s been stamped on my forehead—but not a single one of these people would care, anyway.

But I care a whole hell of a lot because I genuinely cared about that job. And not just for the paycheck. I lived for that damn job. And I was the best PR executive the agency had. Nepotism is a bitch.

It’s okay, though. They’ll regret letting me go. And when they come crawling back, I’ll already be on to bigger and better things. Screw them.

Right now, I’m supposed to be on a plane headed for Florida to decompress on a beach for a week. It’s been scheduled since long before I got the corporate ax, and I need it now more than ever.

A woman looks up to make eye contact from her seat at the end of a row. She gives me a look of solidarity. Women get it. We know when one of our own is going through some shit.

“How can every flight have a weather delay?” I ask, throwing my hands up in disbelief. “I swear, they make this shit up as they go, right? The entire country is not having bad weather! It’s sunny and warm in southern Florida right now!”

The woman yanks her glasses from her face and stares down her nose at me. “You are not the only person in this airport. It might shock you to learn you’re not even the only one being inconvenienced. Clearly, the weatherhereis the problem. Florida has got nothing to do with it, and I think we’ve all heard quite enough of your self-centered tantrum!”

Oh, it’s like that, huh? I thought she was another strong woman ready to commiserate. But no, she’s just another passive passenger, willing to take whatever abuse the airlines dole out. Fucking sheep. I don’t have to stand here and be condescended to like this.

I turn on my heels and slam face-first into a wall—a wall sporting such a curated business-casual look he could be on his way to a photo shoot. No one outside of a menswear ad is this put together on a random Friday afternoon.

Look at those shoulder-length waves of chestnut hair, just messy enough to make him look approachable, which is the last vibe anyone should want to give in an airport.

The only flaw on him is my coffee spilled all over his off-white leather slip-on shoes. Great! Now, I have to apologize to this walking designer billboard, who is probably going to make it a whole thing because men who look like him always do.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t realize you had creeped up on me like that. I’ll pay for your shoes.”

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