YOU

I look at you, sitting there next to me in a fug of self importance, and I wonder why you think the rules don't apply to you.

You heard the air steward saying we should leave our phones switched off until after immigration, so why do you covertly flick it open, enter your pin and check your messages? Why is your partner, waiting outside for you, more deserving of hearing you've landed than mine?

You are in a bus carrying you to the terminal with tens of people who took the same plane. We will have to go through the same checks and wait for our luggage just as you will. Why do you push to the front of the bus, station yourself by the door and make sure you're the first to the passport check? Why do you deserve to get through faster than the lady struggling with her month old child? Or the old man with the worn coat? Or me?

You must see that if a planeful of people crowds around the baggage claim, nobody will have easy access to their bags, let alone see when they arrive. Why do you stand there, toes against the carousel, hand luggage surrounding you, obstructing anyone within half a metre either side? What makes you so sure your bag will be the first? What makes you so angry when mine comes before yours and I have to excuse myself, squeezing by you to drag my bag through the crowd?

Why are there always so many of you whenever I travel?