Skip to main content

Seeking My Suitcase

I recently returned from a long weekend trip. I traveled to a favorite city, one that I know well. I had planned to spend my time seeing good friends and visiting places I have seen many times. Yet, in the days leading up to the departure, I was still apprehensive. My concern had nothing to do with the trip itself, though. Instead, it was because of my track record when it came to visiting this particular city. Prior to this trip, I have flown into this city four times. All four times, I have taken a direct flight on the same airline. Three of the four times, I have flown into the same airport. Three of those four times, my luggage has not arrived with me. I could not help but wonder if this trip, flying in to the same airport, on the same airline, would have the same result. Or, would I be able to leave the airport without a visit to the airline’s baggage services office?

My flight arrived at the airport just ahead of schedule. I made my way to the baggage carousel and could do nothing but wait. Finally, after more than twenty minutes of staring at the empty, unmoving carousel, the alert bell sounded and the serpentine-style conveyor began moving. Very slowly, pieces of luggage began appearing, one by one. As other passengers hurried to claim their luggage, I was still looking for mine. Slowly, the once crowded baggage claim area began to thin. When I noticed bags I had already seen circling the conveyor again, I began to get nervous. Finally, after fifteen minutes of waiting, along with what was now only a few remaining passengers, I saw the handle of my suitcase. It came fully into view and made its way around the conveyor, where I grabbed it and began making my way out of the baggage claim area.

Before I could leave though, I had to make a phone call. My family knew all too well my history with baggage at this particular airport. I called them and excitedly announced that I was leaving the airport, luggage in hand. My streak, it seemed, had been broken.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Catch A Cab

We had been walking for about forty-five minutes, making our way from Manhattan’s South Street Seaport to the Macy’s flagship store on 34th Street. When we were within fifteen blocks of our destination, some of my companions decided that we should complete our journey by cab. Despite my attempts to convince them to keep walking, they were insistent. The trip that ensued was a true New York experience. After a few minutes of trying, one of my companions was able to hail a cab. However, we wanted to go north. The cab that stopped was going south. It did not seem to matter, though, as my companions still got in the cab. One person sat in the front while I slipped into the backseat, between the other two. Hardly before the doors could close, the driver had fought his way into Manhattan traffic. Without warning, he took a sharp right turn onto a side street and began to head north, steadily increasing his speed. Within seconds, the cab was weaving a

When in Rome . . . or Seattle

What was I doing here? I do not even drink coffee. Besides, all of these places basically look the same. This place was no different, really. What was the point of my being here? I had no intention of ordering coffee. Yet, there I was, standing in a tiny Starbucks Coffee shop in Seattle. I was not alone. The store was packed to the point where I could hardly move. While most of the people in the store had a drink in hand, I spotted a few who, like me, were just looking around. In any other city, this might have seemed exceedingly strange, going to Starbucks with no intention of getting coffee. But, this was different. This was the first Starbucks. Seattle and coffee are somewhat linked. It was in Seattle that coffee became a pastime. What was once a drink largely reserved for mornings and evening meals, became a day-long obsession. Granted, Starbucks is just another large corporation. But, it was in Seattle that Starbucks began. Seeking out the first store see

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 i