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

The Centennial

          It has been almost 25 years . . .and I still remember it crystal clearly.  It was a Wednesday morning in September and I was on my way to school.  I was in the front passenger seat of my parents’ minivan while my father drove.  We lived exactly one mile from the school, so it was not a long trip.  Typically, we would use the brief drive to talk about what was happening at school that day, but not on this day.  On this particular morning, we sat in silence, listening to the radio and waiting... waiting for something to happen half a world away.           At that very moment, in Japan, a ballroom full of people was waiting, as well.  They watched as the man stepped up to the podium and began to speak.  As we arrived at the school came the moment that will live in infamy . . .in my hometown, at least.  My father stopped the car at the edge of the sch...

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...

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...