He cut me off with a sharp, "You'll be met." And again he turned his back on me and strode off. This time I let him. I glanced down at the chip-carrier in my hand, and for just a moment I had the impulse to throw it to the floor, grind it under my heel, and just run like hell . The pleasant fantasy didn't last long. I sighed, opened the door, and re-emerged into the concourse.