Los Angeles
So this is where all the bad luck was hiding.
First there was the completely disorienting way the place was laid out. Then the long wait for a QANTAS rep. (For a long time, it seemed the line wasn’t actually advancing, it was just compressing.) When I finally got face time, I was able to move from a window to an aisle, but no exit row.
No exit, either, from the HUGE line for security — easily a city block or more — in which I quoted Napoleon, thanks to Gludt: when a woman with a “Bonds Trader Association” luggage tag and her husband breezed past the line, I called out, “What’s your secret?” She at least had the grace to look slightly embarassed when she replied, “Oh, we’re first class.” To her (by then rapidly departing) back, I said “You know, Napoleon said that religion is what keeps the poor people from killing the rich.”
The people in front of me gave me a look and pulled their children closer.
Once I made it past the TSA, I was in a special island away from competitive pricing. To wit: care for a medium drink at Burger King, the only place open at that hour? That’ll be $1.99. Perhaps an AT&T calling card for your trip? How’s 40 minutes for $20 grab ya?
It was another world, and there was nothing to do but hunker down and wait for the gate call.