When I Go to Hell, I Won't Cut in Line

The list of people I have to thank and the amount of stories I have to tell about my trip to Germany, Poland, France and now Texas are almost overwhelming to start typing.

As I last said, once I got to Germany, Bettina and I got going and didn't stop until I caught my flight out of the Father Land.

The few minutes I had to jump online at Internet cafes in the aforementioned countries all seemed to have computers with keyboards whose letters marched to the beat of a different QWERTY commander.

Even now, with a few minutes to spare before all kinds of Thanksgiving activities begin, I'm left without the cables to my camera and can't download a single photo of my trip. So, instead of starting at the beginning, I'll start at the end.

Yesterday at the Frankfurt airport, after standing in line for 45 minutes to get to the American Airlines counter, and, with at least 20 or 30 minutes of line standing to go, two men walked up right in front of me and one said to the other, "I'll hold our place in line. You go get us some coffee."

Do you see what I'm saying? Two men, without even acknowledging my place in line or the fact I had just stood in line for 45 minutes or the fact there was a line (growing now to at least one hour long) took cuts in front of me. The ignorance. The nerve. The not on my watch.

Since I had seen both of these men approaching, I knew what was coming when I tapped this guy on the shoulder and asked, "Are you standing in line for American Airlines?"

"Yes I am," he said as he straightened his collar for dramatic effect. "I'm flying all the way to Chicago."

Because I was prepared I was immune to what he was trying to offer as his "I've got a free pass adjust my collar kind of ways." You see, these two line cutters, wore the traditional dress of a priest: black suits, white collars and a God gives us the right to cut in line halo'd smirk.

"So am I," I said un-religiously-phased. "And I've been standing in line for 45 minutes. The end of the line is behind me."

"Oh," the white collared man said as though I had just let him know the weather outside was 12 degrees Celsius-unconcerned and comfortable in his clothing.

Then he turned around and faced forward as though the ticket agent was his audience and the approaching counter was his pulpit.

I tapped him on the shoulder again, "Let me repeat myself," I said. "The end of the line. Is back there. This is where you stand in line after waiting for 45 minutes. This is not the beginning of the line."

I pointed to all the people behind me. I pointed to where he should be standing waiting for his cup of coffee-the back of the line.

Then, the man who probably preaches Patience is a Virtue, said, "I get your point. You don't have to be a jerk."

Shocked to be called a jerk by a priest, I took it to the playground level and said, "You're the jerk who is trying to cut in line."

Without offering me forgiveness or an apology or even eternal bliss, he went to the back of the line. Then, I had to fly all the way to Texas knowing a priest thought I was a jerk.

With this weight on my shoulders, I was surprised the plane was able to fly.

Posted by phil at November 23, 2006 09:37 AM