I don't think I packed enough. Maybe I should have jammed that 10th pair of jeans into my carry on.
I waited in line for over an hour, slowly inching my $ 4.00 cart around wide corners. I observed backpackers, Irish-Americans on the way to heritage tours, and several chubby children. Also, there was a fairly posh, faintly Dutch woman behind me. And when I say behind me I mean she parked her bags next to my person and quickly invaded my personal bubble. She stood too close to me and muttered faintly. I wasn't sure she was talking to me so I promptly ignored the crap out of her. This is a skill honed over years, just ask my mother (or the company that keeps sending those pesky student loan bills). After an obscene amount of time spent in line I weighed my bags and got my boarding pass.
Now for the fun part: airport security. Because I am a paranoid android I refuse to wait in the general airport area. What if a tornado slices through the airport and only the people who were at their assigned gate were allowed to fly out? Unlikely, but you never know. I took off my shoes while holding back a shudder about the state of the floor. After a quick mishap about hair clips (who knew they would set off the metal detectors?), I was through.
And again, instead of spending a leisurely hour at a cafe I sped to the correct gate and plopped myself into the nearest seat. Well that's not precisely true; I always try to position my body so I can stare at as many people as possible. Thankfully a British couple indulged my voyeurism and sat in the same row as me. They looked like twins, although it was clear they were married. They both sported tweed suits, the same haircut and the same countenance. I was in heaven.
After staring at everyone in the terminal thoroughly the air hostesses announced the time for boarding had arrived. I got on the plane.
Did I mention I'm a nervous airplane passenger?