I register my luggage, and stick a paper label to it. There are many kiosks for placing luggage in the cargo system. One has a long line. One has a single family. The rest are empty. The workers at those sections are on their phones.

I walk up to one with my bag, and lightly clack it against the ground. The worker eyes me.

"You're only supposed to come when someone calls you."

"..."

"I didn't call."

"..."

I consider asking what she actually wants me to do, what the actual rules of the kiosks are, if she was on her break, why there were so many empty kiosks. Instead, I place my luggage on the scale.

She asks me for my ID. I give it to her. She scans it, and takes my bag. I thank her and leave.

I go to buy airport food. I go somewhere with bagels. While in line, I recall that people put sugar in bagels, and walk somewhere else. I go to a bar that serves drinks and tex-mex. Directly from the cashier, I order a cocktail, a hot dog, and a taco. On the menu, to the right of the word "dog," is the number 13. She asks me for my ID. I show her it. She inspects it, and accepts it.

"That'll be forty dollars." ($40).

"What? What does each individual item cost?"

She rotates her computer display towards me. I look at it.

Bloody Mary (eight dollars ($8))
Fish taco (eleven dollars ($11))
LA Street Dog (fourteen dollars ($14))
Service charge (seven dollars ($7))

I consider what to remove from my order.

"I'm going to go somewhere else. Goodbye."

The cashier shakes her head at me. Another person walks up to the cash register. Before, I was the only one at the bar.

I feel failure because I wasted someone's time.

Later, I buy a large sandwich for sixteen dollars ($16).

If you want the truth, pay attention in an airport.

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