Brisk air filled the jet way, the tropics were nowhere to be found. It seemed the northeast’s brutal spring was making its last stand. A two mile line awaited me as I entered the customs terminal, and what felt like an eternity elapsed as I listened to the less than compassionate line clerks squawk at cellphone usage like middle school teachers. Eventually, I was called to a booth, my internal self shamed for not having acquired Global Entry before my departure. An angsty customs agent grumbled at me as he scanned my passport and shooed me away as though my arrival was an unexpected inconvenience. Newark International hadn’t changed a bit.