Student Voice Editor

Albert Jones sat in a crowded airport, just like he had done hundreds of times. He was in prime location to view people walking up to a small kiosk that sold water, various snacks, and small sandwiches. His flight was two hours away. He brought a rather large book with him. If all else failed he could just read it. He cracked open the book and waited.

He waited, as usual, for someone to approach the kiosk. As soon as someone did, he would guess which brand of water, and in what volume the customer would purchase. He did this according to a complicated set of rules which he had mastered over the course of his career.

A young woman approached the kiosk. She wore four inch heels, a pencil skirt, a white blouse, and had her hair down. With her was a medium sized suitcase that barely qualified for a carry-on. She’s impractical, those heels are too high for travel. “She’ll get the one pint Fiji water for six bucks,” he said to himself.

He watched as she was rung up. He needed to see if he was right. He smirked as she walked away with a square bottle in his hand. He liked being right. It was, after all, his job.


Albert Jones stood in line waiting to go through security. He watched as a family bumbled in front of him, causing a back up. He hated them and their inefficiency. He hated that they decided to breed. He hated that they moved as if what they were doing was normal.

Albert wore his best traveling outfit: Jeans, polo, slip-on dress shoes. No belt. Smart casual. He could go shoeless in seconds. He often timed himself.

The family in front of him was disrupting his routine. Passport and boarding pass in one hand. Wallet/cellphone and gum safely tucked into his FAA-approved carry-on luggage. They moved, he breezed through security. He hoped he would not see them again. He went to find the Cinnabon for breakfast. The family followed him. Today is going to be a long day.


Albert Jones waited with what he knew were too many passengers for the plane. He smiled. It was near Christmas time and he knew people would be flying in droves back to whatever godforsaken hell hole they so desperately wanted to leave in the first place. This was his favorite time of year. The mass migration. It was easy to make a lot of money around this time. Albert Jones loved money.

Albert waited for the increasingly desperate deals to come over the intercom. The woman at the desk opened the negotiation with a high, clear voice, “We are offering a one hundred dollar travel voucher, and one meal voucher for any passenger willing to give up their seat on this flight.” They were starting really low. Albert Jones did not need to look up to know some men were starting to look around and shuffle nervously. Instead, he flipped a page in his large book and smiled. Nobody was willing to leave their family during the holidays. Albert Jones silently celebrated his fellow passengers’ internalization of conservative family values. It meant more money for him.

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