Skip to main content

Looking At My Luggage

More than twenty four hours had passed since I had arrived in Washington, D.C. My luggage was still nowhere to be found. Despite the promises of the airline’s agents, my missing suitcase had not yet been delivered. With no other alternative, I had spent the day touring Washington in the clothes that I had worn a day earlier. Clothes that I was still wearing. A full day had passed. My friend and I had returned to her house from dinner to find that my belongings remained missing. I promptly began calling the airline, trying to track down my baggage. The agent assured me that my luggage had been located and dropped off at my friend’s home by a delivery service the previous evening. I assured her that it had not been delivered. After more than fifteen minutes of her continued assurances, I was transferred to the delivery service. As with the airline, the delivery service assured me that my luggage had been dropped off, going so far as to give me a specific time at which it had been left. Again, I repeatedly assured the service that I did not have my luggage. Finally, the agent decided to contact the driver directly, promising to call me as soon as she had more details.

 Hanging up the phone, my friend and I stepped outside to get some fresh air. We sat on her front step and surveyed the nearly empty neighborhood street. Then, a house down the street caught my eye. The residents were certainly not there as the house was completely dark. But, what caught my eye was something I saw in front of the house. Leaning against the front door of this house was a large rectangular case. It looked out of place. It looked . . . like my luggage. I stepped off of the front step to get a better look. I was almost certain that it was my luggage. A few seconds later, my phone rang. It was the delivery service representative with more information. She gave me the date and time at which my luggage had supposedly been delivered. When she began to read the delivery address, I had to interrupt her. The address was not the one I had given the airline agent. The street was right, but the house number had been reversed. She apologized and said that the error would be quickly resolved. My luggage, she said, would be delivered very soon. I hung up the phone.

 Again, my friend and I stepped outside, curious to see if my suspicions were correct. Sure enough, within a few minutes, a van stopped in front of the house down the street. Someone stepped out of the van and retrieved the case, placed it in the van and drove away. The van pulled in front of my friend’s house and the driver removed the same suitcase I had seen him pick up only moments earlier. He walked toward my friend’s house, dragging the suitcase behind him and presented me with my luggage.
Labels:

Comments

  1. UnknownJanuary 31, 2010 at 1:05 AM

    Hhmmm? Who you gonna' believe? Some stranger at the other end of a phone line telling you that you have your luggage or yourself telling you that you don't. That's a tough one :-)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Olympic Memories

Twenty years ago this week, I - along with my family - was sitting in my house watching the Opening Ceremonies of the Summer Olympics.  I have always loved watching the Olympics, but this time was different.  This time, the Games were not on some far-away continent.  These Games were in my own hometown!  In fact, just the night before, I had been in Olympic Stadium - now Turner Field - watching the dress rehearsal for what I was watching on tv.  Now, twenty years later, some of my most vivid memories remain: The seemingly always-crowded highways of Atlanta were practically desolate, providing a seldom-seen sight. Meeting the Frenchman who wondered if I had ever heard of the book about the Civil War written by an Atlanta woman named Margaret Mitchell. The dress rehearsal crowd cheering wildly during the parade of nations for the entry of the flag from (the nation of) Georgia. Attending the women's gymnastics podium trials, watching the Magnificent 7 prepa...
Post a Comment
Read more

Playing Slots

             It is impossible to win on these machines, I thought.  Playing an airport slot machine is basically throwing away money, I was certain.  But, I had a long layover between flights and was looking for a way to pass the time.  I could see the neon glow of the Las Vegas Strip through the windows, but I did not have enough time to make that trip.  Despite my doubts, then, I sat down at a quarter machine near my gate and dropped in one dollar.  That was all that I would spend, I assured myself.  If nothing else, I would not be out much money.               I sat at the machine and, every few seconds, pressed the blinking button that sent the rolls spinning.  I would win. . . then lose. . . then win the small sum that I was playing.  When I looked and saw that I actually was ahead, I decided to q...
Post a Comment
Read more

A Quiet Place

There was no broad stretch of highway crowded with cars full of eager beachgoers, just a two-lane road cutting through a canopy of trees.  There were no souvenir stands, just one small general store.  There were only a handful of restaurants, and, in fact, only one bar on the entire island, and it was a 10-minute drive away.  Getting to the beach was a matter of stepping out of the apartment and walking a few hundred feet, to the edge of the Gulf. But, those walks led me to some of my fondest memories.  For the two weeks I spent on this island every summer, I would make that walk almost everyday.  However, my favorite walks happened before the sun rose.  I would drag myself out of bed; throw on a bathing suit and sandals and, with my father and often at least one of my siblings, head out the door. We would make our way along sandy pathways, the last hints of nighttime starting to fade away.  As we neared the Gulf, the sand benea...
Post a Comment
Read more