It's study hall. Study hall. Oh god, so boring. I will write a short story on an imaginary prompt in an effort to alleviate my painfully mind-numbing boredom. And... go.
"Flight 903 to Paris, now boarding at Gate 34." The voice seemed so cold and distant as it reverberated through the airport halls. Mitch felt an extra surge of strength as he pushed his legs harder underneath his massive encumbrance that had been packed so hastily that morning. He could feel the gentle wind generated by the giant machines overhead steadily amplified as he ran, threatening to rip the 'Fighting Irish' cap from his head and into the infinite depths of the airport terminal. Wouldn't that just make for a perfect day?
This spring break had seemed like it would have been a lot better when Joel first pitched it to him. The legal statutes regarding prostitution and age of consent, he claimed, were greatly relaxed in France. Mitch assumed that Joel knew what he was talking about; after all, he spoke perfect French (Or so he claimed... What a great amendment to first recognize in hindsight...).
"The chicks, dude!" Joel had repeated ad infinitum with increasing enthusiasm. Eventually, Mitch's ever-increasing hunger for 'nookie' overcame his initial apprehension. Mitch only hoped that the rumor that French women don't shave their legs was, in fact, a rumor. The plane didn't depart for another hour, and already this vacation was beginning to displease Mitch greatly. It appeared to have potential to, as they say, 'blow ass'
"Shit, shit, shit, shit..." Mitch clenched his teeth and lamented inwardly as he reviewed the gate numbers before him: Gate 33. Gate 35. It was like the universe was toying with him, like Gate 34 was just a myth, or maybe he'd misheard the voice. He felt his face grow hot as he stamped his sneakers on the ground in disbelief of his incredible misfortune before it finally boiled over and spilled out his mouth in the form of an enraged yelp.
"WHERE THE FUCK IS GATE 34?!?!?" A young airline attendant who appeared to be in her early 20's touched Mitch gently on the shoulder. He snapped his neck in the direction of the disturbance like a hawk tracking it's prey, when all at once the hunter became the hunted. Caught momentarily off-guard by her earthly beauty, he opened his mouth stupidly and permitted no sound to come out, as he pointed to the signs above the gate terminals like a 5-year-old asking directions from a stranger. Finally, she put his embarrassing tirade to an end.
"Gate 34 is on the other end of the airport," she spoke quickly with an unplacable accent "Only odd-numbered gates are in this wing."
"Are you..." Mitch could feel the frustration boiling once more "Is this... And I have to walk all the fucking way to... OH MY FUCKING GOD!" Wary airport patrons shielded their children from the obscenities that seemed to be spewing forth from this young man like a volcano this morning "Fucking… RRRGH!" He began to let out all sorts of indistinguishable noises in a fit of rage.
The young woman, mildly amused by Mitch's stupidity smiled calmly, having defused several similar situations, said quietly as she pointed beyond Gate 35 "The airport wraps around. If you go past Gate 39, you'll come to 40, and then they descend back down"
"Oh," Mitch said sheepishly as he lowered his town dramatically and relaxed his shoulders. "Uh, okay. Thanks, umm..." he cast a glance at her nametag, which was nominally prolonged by the fact that it was positioned on her breast "...Kendra"
'Oh no,' she thought, sensing another player fix his sites upon her 'Not this crap again. They don't pay me enough to put up with this,' a bright, youthful smile struck like a fissure through her alabaster skin, under low cheekbones laden with a small bit of baby-fat. She kept her wide, bright blue eyes fixed on the young man as she inwardly began to revile him as he swiftly joined the ranks of all the other men who so deftly made her wish she'd finished college so she could get some high-profile professional job... Not so much for the money, just so she wouldn't have to deal with people. Her long blond hair glinted the slightest bit in the artificial morning light of the airport, betraying the slightest quiver of rage as she braced herself for some lame pick-up line. Just one more line involving frisking and airport security, though, and the postal service would have to abdicate is position as reigning champion of internal malcontent.
"Do you think you could show me?" Mitch pointed innocently down the hallway
"You just keep going the way you were." Kendra snapped her arm slightly as she pointed with him, hoping he would get the hint
"Well, yeah, but... um..." Mitch began to play the ignoramus, which didn't really help his case much, given the circumstances "I don't really have time to look for it."
"I'll show you, then." She sighed, ruefully conceding to the 'Customer is always right' mentality. At that moment she gave thanks to Jehovah, Jesus, and whoever invented the moving walkway.
"You fly for free?" Mitch said, in an apparently random move
"Yes," Kendra replied, in an effort to be as cold and emotionless as humanly possible "And once a year internationally."
"Cool," Mitch bobbed his head in acknowledgement "I'm headed to Paris for spring break"
"Sounds fun," she said, wondering where he was going with this roundabout advance
"Oh!" he finally exclaimed "Here's Gate 34! Thanks a lot!" Mitch gathered his bags and stepped off the walkway towards security. Kendra stood there dumbstruck, partly ashamed at herself for pinning this poor kid with every stereotype she could think of, intrinsically goading herself to loathe him. She began walking back to her terminal, smiling to herself. Maybe some men were different.
"Dude," Joel leaned out of line to punch Mitch in the arm just above the sleeve of his 'Abercrombie' tee "Where were you? And who was that chick?"
"Sorry dude," Mitch apologized weakly "My alarm didn't go off. And that was just some chick who works here. She was pretty nice."
"Dude," Joel shook his head
"I know dude," Mitch nodded "I'd bang her too."