posted Tue, 11 Sep 2007
Going through security at the airport this morning, a woman cut in line. I was ticked off because I hate linecutting on principle and because she was messing with me now. I muttered something about it to SH and the guy behind us, who had managed, as SH and I had, to figure out that the line did not begin at the corner of the table but curved around it.
Then the woman took off her jacket and raised her arms. Armpit hair. Lots of it. Gross.
It is difficult to get a good photo of a line cutter when you are far away and don’t want the line cutter to know you are photographing her. This is the hairy-armpit linecutter. The other one looked like a perfectly ordinary frumpy suburban matron. Evil comes in many disguises.
“She’s obviously in a hurry,” excused the guy behind me. “She didn’t have time to shave.”
Then she took off her knitted hat, the one that completed her ensemble of black leggings, a wispy yellow skirt tied with a huge pink ribbon, a black tank top, a purple bra (how do I know she was wearing a purple bra? Because her straps were completely visible), black boots and light blue socks.
When she removed the hat, it was pretty clear she had been in too much of a hurry to wash her hair, too. For like the past week. Or two.
The security agent examined her container and said something that inspired the woman to swear, turn to her companion, and say, “Screw it. We’re not going.”
Then she marched away from the line in a huff.
Ha. Sometimes justice is served immediately.
But the show was not over. I reached the corner of the table and turned to slide my stuff onto the conveyor belt. A middle-aged woman cut in front of me.
“Excuse me,” I said, as I tried to push my stuff past hers.
“I’m in a hurry and I’m next,” she retorted.
“No, you’re not,” I said. “The line ends back there.”
“This is where the two lines merge,” she said.
“No, ma’am,” I answered firmly. “There is only one line here. One entrance, one line.”
“Well, this is where the agent told me to go,” she snapped.
I doubted it – gate agents don’t tend to encourage queue jumping and don’t discourage people from using common sense to determine where the end of the line is, but I wasn’t prepared to punch her in the nose and didn’t see the point of making a scene, even though I was completely morally right. So I just rolled my eyes and muttered, “Line cutter!” under my breath. I hope she missed her plane and that her luggage got lost.
Marriage 601, Lecture 745: Unequally yoked
1 hour ago