Gatekeeper in a Terminal of Empty Flights

There's a desk I stand behind in the dream, not a ticket counter or a gangway, just a metal desk. The airport clock is stopped. People hand me boarding passes printed in a font I can't read, and I check them against nothing, and every single passenger thanks me like I just saved their life. I woke up with both fists clenched and the feeling that I'd done exactly what I was supposed to do all night. That's the thing about dreams — they make you feel competent about a job that doesn't exist. I'm going to carry that feeling onto the 6 a.m. ferry and lose it by the time we dock.