I saw it happen.
My dad saw it too.
His eyebrows shot up.
He leaned toward me.
“Did you see that?”
“Yes.”
“Say something.”
“It’s fine.”
“It is not fine.”
“Dad. It’s not worth it.”
“He just cut in front of you.”
“I know.”
Dad started to step forward.
I grabbed his sleeve.
“Leave it.”
“Why?”
“Because I do not want an argument at airport security.”
He muttered something under his breath that I won’t translate.
The man glanced back.
He had obviously heard us speaking Spanish.
I don’t know what he assumed.
Maybe we were tourists.
Maybe we were immigrants.
Maybe people who wouldn’t confront him.
Whatever it was, he seemed pleased with himself.
About a minute later, he took out his phone.
He made no effort to keep his voice down.
“Yeah,” he said.
Pause.
Then he laughed.
“I just cut the line.”
I looked at Dad.
Dad looked at me.
