Every combination of humanoid passes through the Terminal A security line. Tweakers, hillbillies, yuppie scum, uptight moms, screaming kids and bros in backward ballcaps—lots and lots of bros in backward ballcaps. No matter how excited these and other frequent flyers are to be leaving Orange County, they wear the most bored looks until reaching the promised land: the end of the line, which is populated by even more bored-looking strangers in TSA uniforms checking out the most intimate of carry-ons. Someone else clogging security lines warrants a mention: the travel snob. He has done this routine so many times, literally in his sleep, that he huffs and puffs at newbies who do not know to have their identification and boarding passes ready before reaching the checker, their computers out of their carry-ons before reaching the X-ray machine, and their shoes off before walking through the security archway. The snob is ready to abdomen-punch the pregnant lady who holds everyone up because she didn't know to remove bottled water from her bag, or the tanning-bed zombie engaged in a losing argument with TSA because she refuses to accept that her 30-ounce bottle of sunscreen is not coming with her to Florida because it is considered a liquid. May the inevitable screaming kid of every flight always end up in the seat next to this sputtering know-it-all.