She shifted her weight hastily from one foot to the other, clearly irritated.
I was too. Irritated, that is.
Her, a hundred other travelers in front of me, and I had chosen the wrong line at the airport, and security was moving us through their checkpoint at a snails pace.
The line to my left seemed like a racetrack by comparison. Each of the travelers walked confidently toward the checkpoint faster than American Pharoe to the Triple Crown. They seemed happy, almost cheery (or so my imagination told me).
That’s when this woman in front of me made her break for freedom.