Flying through the Midwest in the summertime means one thing: turbulence. I was working as a flight attendant on one particular flight when we hit a patch of very rough air just after a young teenager, obviously on her first flight, had entered the bathroom. After the bumps had subsided, she exited the bathroom, a look of sheer terror etched on her face.

"Are you all right?" I asked as I helped her to her seat. "That turbulence was as bad as it gets."

"So that's what it was," she said. "I thought I'd pushed the wrong button."

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