When Flight 427 dove into a hillside, I was working a flight on A Concourse with Ed. Final call, no problems, so he pulled the jet way. Then the supervisors disappeared. Something was happening on B, where people were waiting for a flight from Chicago. The coward in me was thankful that I worked on A.
365/radical elements 
A normal reaction, I would think.
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What a nightmare. I can’t imagine having to face relatives.
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No coward.
I was momentarily confused while reading this because one of my cousins was a flight attendant who met her husband, Ed, when he was a pilot working for the same airline.
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Ed was a furloughed pilot when he worked with me. A funny, sweet guy, not remotely like most pilots that crossed my path! Your cousin’s name isn’t Anne by any chance?
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No, her name is Barbara.
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I don’t see that as cowardly either.
I had to look up Flight 427. A plane crash is near the top of my list of ways I don’t want to die. I imagine it would be so terrifying. Plus, your last meal may have been airplane food.
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What Mali said. And OMG. I’d blocked this.
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