Her mannish pants evidently a couple of sizes too large slushed against her legs. Her pinned updo from the 70s tower on the top of her head. She glares down her nose over her glasses that are sliding off. “Yeah, yeah, yeah bag check”, she mutters swaying slowly over. Another four minutes pass and we see her struggling to get a pair of latex gloves over her sweaty hands. Finally she drags our bag to the check counter. Although there was no one else at the counter in front of her except Pierre, she still calls out “whose bag is this?” as if there were hundreds of people clamouring at the counter waiting each their turn.
The mayhem was actually scary. Busyness is one thing but confusion at the security gates does not bestow confidence in today’s world of bombed airplanes and suicide bombers. There were TSA agents swarming about some shouting orders others just standing around. The crowd pushed slowly forward everyone in the same state of confusion, just waiting to be told to pass in one direction or another…everyone starry eyed and uncertain. There was no rhyme or reason why one went through the large body scanner and why others were told to just walk pass the overhead scanner. Both scanners were right next to each other and eventually the agent trying to organize the lines stopped asking people to go through one of the scanners and it was as if he just said to himself, “oh well, fine then go through the other one. I don’t care”
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