For my trip back to Raleigh, I had an awesome check in at the Continental counter. When the woman at the check-in desk spoke clearly, in complete sentences, and then cheerfully wished me a good flight, I wasn’t sure how to react. Where are the mumbled commands and eyerolls? Maybe this is that Newark renaissance I keep hearing about! Awesome!
There was no line at security, ether, and I started to wonder if maybe my dad had dropped me off at Bizarro Newark by mistake. I know everyone hates flying, but I secretly love the feeling of possibility in airports, the light-up signs with exotic destinations, and the mythical magic of looking down at clouds.
There were just two other women were taking off their shoes and pulling out their laptops with me. One woman went through, and as I was putting my plastic tray with my purse and sandals on the conveyor belt, the other one pushed in front of me.
“Howbouchoo waityer turn?” she said, putting her tray over mine and into the X-ray. “God, so rude.”
Now, I don’t think I’d gone Beijing-subway on her, but I wasn’t really paying attention. She was standing behind me when we started putting our lotions and other contraband in the little trays, but maybe if you touch the trays first you get cutsies going onto the belt? Is there some kind of airport-line etiquette I don’t know about?
But that’s more what I was expecting from Newark. Old dog, new tricks, and so forth.
