John Kerry isn't the only one who doesn't like to wait his turn...
Picture this: It's Labor Day 2003 at the airport in Little Rock, Arkansas. I had just flown from Las Vegas, and was waiting to continue on to BWI, but the second leg of the journey was delayed because of thunderstorms in Maryland. Everyone had left the plane in search of food (Southwest only gives you a tiny bag of pretzels). Because it was a holiday, the only food vendor in the airport that was open was a Pizza Hut/Burger King. I joined a line that seemed miles long. About fifteen or twenty minutes elapsed, and I had almost reached the beginning of the counter.
All of the sudden, I heard a voice that sounded strangely familiar say, "So where's the back of the line around here? Heh heh heh!" The owner of the voice blatantly planted himself right in front of me. It was.... the Perfumed Prince, in the flesh, General Wesley Clark.
I was pretty speechless. I turned around and glanced at the guy behind me, with an expression of "WTF?!"
He gave me a knowing look and mouthed the word, "democrat".
My parents once went to dinner at an Italian restaurant in London. The restaurant has no formal dress code, but people are expected to dress nicely, as it is quite a nice restaurant; my father was taking my mother there as a surprise.
Who should be there but Bill Clinton and James Carville. They were wearing jeans, Bill was smoking a cigar (which is a no-no in that restaurant) and their coterie were loud and making a mess of the atmosphere. The restaurant felt obliged to apologise to my parents and the other patrons.
Discipline, tradition, order, decorum - mean absolutely nothing to these narcissists.
Regards, Ivan