Claiming emotional baggage

I often seem to find myself, inexplicably, in airports. I step onto the tarmac; fresh, non-pressurised air penetrates my lungs, as I leisurely make my way to the carousel a la baggage. I'm standing there about 3 or 4 metres back from the conveyor-belt and time and again, come to the stark realisation that at that moment, even if I saw my humble little baggy effortlessly gliding around the bend, I wouldn't be able to access my belongings due to the throngs of once beloved co-passengers now mounting the carousel. Please somebody explain to me, for I simply cannot fathom why people feel this irrepressible need to be so darn close to the moving platform of goodies. Notions of chivalry are all but forgotten in the bloody scramble to retrieve Roxy backpacks & Samsonite suites - elderly women and small children tossed thoughtlessly by the wayside in the wake of the silent stampede...

                                                                                      ...In my frustration I wish to remind my fellow bystanders that we are not eyeing off the same magical, little, mouth-watering morsels like one would find at Sushi Train where the belt whistles by at such a speed that it inhibits a swift retrieval. No, the baggage carousel moves slowly, allowing enough time for baggage owners to casually approach, grip, heave, lower & roll - so why does everyone freak out? Is it some sort of primal, survival of the fittest mentality that drives this panic? Is it a reflection of our time-bound, individualistic culture? Does the carousel emit some brand of alluring pheromone, to which, I am clearly immune? Who knows? All I know is, it is diminishing my faith in humanity's capacity for patience.

Friends, I implore you. Next time you're at the airport, loitering around baggage claim, can you please, please, stand the hell back?