Southwest Airlines, German Style

It's long been our observation that no one likes lining up like Americans like lining up. Neat, orderly and sensible, the line clearly establishes one's place in the world at that moment. Who gets fries next, who gets to pay for milk next, who gets to sit in the front row are all dictated by a first-come-first-served policy that gives appropriate preference to those who had the good sense to plan ahead and arrive in a punctual manner, or to those who chose the right line, also known as "line karma." Great disfavor falls upon anyone who seeks to thwart the natural order of the line, who seeks to better his position in the world to the disadvantage of others in the line. Indeed, Walt Disney felt disregarding the inviolability of the line was an offense punishable by removal from the line, and for egregious cases, from the park.

While many nationalities are known for their inability to grasp and employ the line concept, Germans seem to like order and logic far more than the next guy. An early morning stroll through the streets of Bacharach, one stop on our route, revealed an ancient German woman stooped with whisk broom in hand, mercilessly removing invisible dirt from the innumerable cobblestones in front of her impeccably maintained home. Such order and logic was our expectation upon arriving at the Frankfurt-Hahn airport Sunday morning to catch a flight on Wizz Air, one of Europe's many low-cost airlines.

One-way fare from Frankfurt to Budapest for two of aprx. $60 doesn't buy you much in the way of amenities. One noticeably lacking was assigned seating. Now, anyone who has taken a Southwest Airline flight knows that unassigned seats bring out the most aggressive form of American line etiquette, with those desperate for good seats lining up at the designated place an hour in advance of the flight or more. Unsure what to expect, we arrived in plenty of time to ensure a good seat.

Upon arriving at the gate, a half dozen passengers waited in the chairs for the flight to board. It seemed classic German politeness and order reigned. Unsuspecting, we took a seat and read the last precious English-language magazine left from our stop at Ramstein. Others arrived and took a seat as well, chatting amongst themselves. Shortly, an employee appeared and walked to the gate, reaching for the intercom phone. The elderly woman relaxing to my left sprung into action. Astonished, we sat and watched as the entire population of the room surged forward, pressing against the unopened gate like teenagers at a Metallica concert. It seemed any form of abuse was fair game, as young and old alike could barely refrain from biting and gouging each other in their panic to best their fellow travelers. Personal space be damned, the crowd pressed chest to back. A cardigan-clad middle aged woman, head down in a determined manner, drove her elbow under our ribs and battered her way to the front. No lines were in sight, only a surging semi-circle of passengers stumbling, shoving, using baggage as battering rams. Madness ensued. When the gate opened, the mass surged forward, multiple people trying to enter at once.

Unprepared and unwilling to batter the elderly (notably, the worst offenders,) we ended up near the rear of the mass as it spilled onto the tarmac and rushed toward the plane. Once outside, bony elbows soon proved no match for youth and comparatively long legs, and we shortly found ourselves enjoying a window seat in row 2, flabbergasted but victorious. It seemed our line karma was with us that day.