The more I thought about that other supervisor last night, the one who said due to health and safety it was accurate that I would die if I walked the terminal, the more bullied and intimidated I felt. While the “good cop” supervisor sat down across from me, the “bad cop” supervisor stood and paced like a republican presidential nominee at a debate, or a pugilist looking waiting for the bell to ring to start a round. It was really awful.
I tried sleeping in the crappy chairs to little or no avail.
It’s rare that I’ve encountered an entire corporate culture of sadistic glee at treating customers poorly. But London Heathrow is just that. At 4:40 am a staff members pounded the seats of gate 7 saying the airport was now open. It was the antithesis yet spiritual cousin of last call “Closing time” at a bar. If they had said you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here it wouldn’t have surprised me.
What a mean spirited awful place.
I wandered down to the shuttle to terminal 5 and went through the security rigmarole. I grabbed far too many chocolate croissants at the club and then decided I had best try and get a few kilometers in at least It wouldn’t erase the binge eating or hit my marathon goal but it would be something at least.
I’m not sure I trust my Garmin anymore. But I think I at least did a 10k. Best I could do this morning. Wish I could’ve done my marathon but LHR simply wouldn’t allow it.
Headed to my gate now. It’ll be good to leave here on a jet plane.