Baggage About Baggage

I’m at the airport, trying to check in. As always, I use the check-in machine and intend to use the self-help bag drop because it’s faster than the manual check-in. For some reason, the machine doesn’t give me a baggage tag, so manual intervention is needed. There is always an attendant at the bag drop in case someone needs help, so I head over there and explain that I didn’t get a baggage tag.

Attendant: “You should try another machine.”

Me: “I did. It said the tag had already been printed.”

The attendant visibly and audibly sighs but gives no gesture in any direction.

Attendant: “Then you need to go to the check-in counter. “ 

Me: “Yes, and where is that?”

Attendant: “There are signs.”

I’m starting to think I may be missing something really obvious.

Me: “That I can see from here?”

Attendant: *Rolling her eyes* “You don’t need to see them from here; you will see them when you get there.”

I’m getting a bit fed up.

Me: “Well, I’m not here every day, unlike you.”

She frowns, lifts the world’s heaviest arm, and points in what, somewhat surprisingly, will turn out to be the right direction.

I’m really fed up at this time.

Me: “You don’t have to be quite so obvious about how stupid you think I am.”

She walked away. So did I, and after a brief wait and a pleasant exchange with the check-in person, my suitcase was tagged and sent on its merry way. 

Walking back toward security, I saw the attendant again, in what seemed to be a helpful interaction with someone. I have no idea what I did wrong.