Nasti

It starts in the queue, as he pairs us off with pointing fingers. I'm assigned to the longest line, and unhappy with my lot I swap. It's not me he picks on but the Pole with the shaved head to my right. Back to your line, the line attendant barks, a shrimp of a man in a luminous yellow vest. Even though it's not me he's talking to, I can feel the shame rising, hot sticky anger spreading through my gut. I stay, the Pole says, his grasp of English on par with the Yellow Jacket. You don't change lines, the Yellow Jacket shrieks, you do what I say! I stay here, our Pole says, his voice planting his feet so firmly he might as well be pouring concrete over his ankles. Move lines, you move lines, the Yellow Jacket is striding over now, you move lines now! The Pole draws himself up, fills his lungs and bellows back, I stay with family, pushing his voice from his gut and stopping Yellow Jacket mid step. The hall is hushed, silenced, all eyes on the badge carrier. He is deflating under the gazes, he is nothing now and he knows it. This is your family? He asks, in hushed tones. Ok, you stay with family, and then like he's been misunderstood this whole time, he barks another order- you don't change lines!