Some years ago I arrived astonishingly late at Gatwick Airport for a flight to Amsterdam.
A train from central London had been cancelled and the next one (naturally) ran painfully slow - even if I'd caught the first train, I would have been cutting things fine to make the flight.
I was very keen to get on the plane for what promised to be a great one-day trip. With 9/11 still fresh in the aviation industry's mind, the queues at the airport were long.
So I did the only sensible thing and charged to the front of every line, apologising to those immediately around me as I squeezed past them.
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With a little chutzpah and brazen rudeness, I cut the normal 50-minute check-in and security check process down to a nine-minute dash.
I honestly arrived at the boarding gate as the plane door was being closed where, after applying a little judicious charm, I was shown to my seat.
During my queue-jumping rampage, fellow passengers were (mostly) very cool about it.
Airport queues can be soul-destroying affairs, so to this day I'm grateful there were few grizzlers.
Thankfully, I haven't had to pull a similar stunt since - and when I've seen others in a mad scramble, I'll happily step aside.
I know how sheepish they feel.