Gemotions

The flickering television screen above the gate was a joke. Another delay. Seriously? Mr. Henderson slammed his carry-on onto the nearest seat, the flimsy metal legs of the chair groaning in protest. He already knew what the announcement would say. Always the same rehearsed apologies, delivered with the same insincere tone.

He checked his watch again, a nervous twitch starting in his jaw. The charity gala, hours away, was now irrevocably compromised. His mind raced, calculating the precise amount of damage control he would have to perform once he finally arrived. His entire reputation was on the line.

A flight attendant, all saccharine smiles and forced friendliness, offered him a complimentary water. He snatched it, the plastic crinkling under his grip. “Is this a joke?” he snapped, before retreating into his phone. He needed to make sure they hadn't started without him.