When Denver International Airport first opened, my parents and I were delighted to discover a little pretzel shop by gate B-24 called “Auntie Anne’s.”  Even today, when I have ready access to Auntie Anne’s throughout the Boston area, I remember the exact gate in DIA where I can find the salty buttery treats.

The second time we walked up to the shop we saw an enormous line snaking across the concourse.  More striking than its length, though, was its composition: what looked like the complete flight crews from at least three or four different flights were queued up together to get their fix of Auntie’s delicious snacks before their flights carried them away.

I’d forgotten this until my return trip from Washington yesterday.  When I got to the airport I learned the earlier 4:30 flight was canceled, leaving the 5:30 and 6:30 flights inundated with standby passengers.  The gate agents were surrounded by a frustrated mob of late check-ins, stand-bys, volunteers who gave up their seats, and general riffraff desperately seeking information (which they gave readily, with great detail and pleasant smiles).  Nobody in an Airtran uniform was spared the third degree.

Finally, when the crowd had dissipated – the stand-bys off to the food court with $10 food vouchers, the volunteers off to their homes to wait for the morning’s flights, and the rest of us to our chairs to sit peacefully – a lone flight attendant emerged from the chaos.  Looking as if she’d spent her day chasing a particularly energetic child across the country, she asked one last question of the customer service agents, as one would ask water of a merchant in the desert: “Pretzels?  Pretzels?”

I thought she must surely have asked for “restrooms” until she reappeared a few minutes later holding an Auntie Anne’s bag.  “They’re sending me all over the place today; I don’t know what’s going on.  But at least by coming here I get pretzels,” she announced.