My first summer in Spain, I lived in Seville, but to get there, I had to connect through Madrid.
Now, if you’ve ever been on an international flight, you know what it’s like when they “wake you up” in the morning for breakfast — you’re not hungry because it’s really not breakfast time, and you’re usually irritable because you didn’t sleep well on the flight, nor have you had a shower in several hours.
I got off of my plane and weaved my way though the Madrid airport, which by the way, has poorly-designed directional signs. I had to go through a security checkpoint, since I was boarding another flight.
I put my luggage on the belt, and right after I walked through the scanner, a security officer with a stern look on his face pulled my carry-on bag off the belt and yelled “whose bag is this?!” in Spanish.