Roscoe the

Handicapped Angel

In my early twenties, I worked the ticket counter at an

airline. When you checked in to your night, I was the girl
who printed your ticket and tagged your bags.
Roscoe was my baggage handler. He would stand behind
me at the counter and throw the bags on the conveyor belt.
Roscoe was also handicapped. And not just a little
handicapped; dude was messed up in multiple ways.
To start with, he only had one working arm. I don’t know
how he even got that job—who hires a baggage handler
with only one working arm?
His right arm was big and strong and it worked great.
But his left arm was like, this tiny deformed little arm. It
was permanently bent at an angle, and kinda hung there and
looked like a T. rex arm. He could move the mngers and
stuĉ. Otherwise, it couldn’t do much. Like a baby arm that
never fully developed.
It made me feel creepy at mrst. Have you ever seen a
physical deformity on a person, and at mrst, it sends a chill