I finish work just after noon when most people are still tucking into their lunches. By this time, I’ve already served a full day at work. I’m tired because I’ve been running around like a mad woman who’s forgotten her medication (I can say this because my mum’s crazy) putting books away and serving customers; and my feet hurt because I’ve had numerous trolleys/suitcases/cages rolled over them. You’d think they’d eventually become numb to the pain. But they don’t.
I walk to one end of the airport to clock out, then, trek to the other side to retireve my bag and jacket. I battle my way through check in and finally exit the building. My journey is far from over. I then brave the travelator and try not to get annoyed when people just stand there on it. Helpful advice: You go faster when you WALK on the damn thing.
I wait impatiently behind a tourist at the ticket barrier in the tube station, watching as they swipe their PAPER ticket against the Oyster card reader. Because of this, I’ve missed my train. I walk to the end of the platform where it’s quiet. I sit on the bench and then, I put my head in my filthy, dry skinned, broken nailed hands, and I whimper quietly.