Tag Archives: packing

Stream of Consciousness: Dude, Where’s My Bag?

16 Nov

Ah yes, Le Carousel. With bags on it.

I never travel with more than a carry-on. Never. Not even when I have a trip that covers three dramatically different climates and two continents. I consider myself a Master Packer and am confident that it – along with parallel parking – is a category in which I could easily medal at the Olympic level.

Waiting at the luggage carousel completely short-circuits my internal Efficiency Sensor, which is why I limit myself to a carry-on.  So imagine my consternation when I checked in on Sunday and was told that since it was a full flight, rollerboards were going to have to be checked.

Does. Not. Compute.

So, here is what went through my head while waiting to claim my bag:

Is this the right carousel? Or is that the right carousel?

Let’s see… do I recognize anyone from my flight?

Did I pay attention well enough to know who was on my flight?

Where is white-haired guy who sat in front of me and told jokes so loudly it was obvious he thought he was a comedian?

Oh – there he is! Along with the woman who fake laughs at everything!

Nice! They finally are serving a purpose other than annoying the shit out of me.

I must be at the right carousel.

Carousel? Who decided to call this a luggage CAROUSEL, anyway?

That makes it sound like it should have ponies on it carrying my bag. That would actually be cool. But messy.

I guess Lazy-Luggage-Susan didn’t inspire confidence.

Speaking of: Why Susan? What is it called a Lazy Susan?

This would've been me, if my bag hadn't appeared.

And knowing that word exists, why would anyone name their child Susan?

Way to handicap your child. Nice work, parents.

I wonder if they name Susan’s brother “Good-for-Nothing?” 

OK. So let’s get this lazy-luggage-susan moving. Why isn’t it moving?

We’ve been on the ground for over 20 minutes.

I’ve managed to deplane from the last row, pee and walk the entire length of the terminal and I still beat the first bag? What?

I should really be an efficiency consultant. I could help them get this party started.

[Luggage carousel screeches into motion and bags begin tumbling off conveyor belt.]

Is that my bag? No. Is that my bag? No. Is that my bag? No.

Why is there a pair of boxer shorts riding around on the carousel? Gross.

Is that my bag? No. Is that my bag? No. Is that my bag? No.

OK. Who packed THAT bag? It’s HUGE. I hope they are moving here and not just visiting.

I could be a packing consultant and help them travel lighter.

Is that my bag? No. Is that my bag? No. Is that my bag? No.

Uh oh. I wonder if my bag made it? 

I am going to be pissed if my bag is missing. My new boots are in there! 

Did I throw away the claim ticket they gave me? Uh oh.

I hope they didn’t lose my bag. How will I get it back without the claim ticket?

Is that my bag? No. Is that my bag? No. Is that my bag? No.

Why is there a five year old child clogging up valuable real estate right next to the carousel?

He’s going to be in my way when my bag shows up. IF my bag shows up.

Where are his parents? 

Someone needs to tell them to get their kid out of the way.

Somehow, I don’t think “parenting consultant” is something I’m qualified to do. 

Is that my bag? No. Is that my bag? No. Is that my bag???

YES! That’s my bag. FINALLY.

As I wheeled it away, I could feel someone’s eyes boring into me. It was a petite blonde woman who had claimed a gigantic suitcase that she could easily have fit in. I saw her eyeing my bag and my outfit with the same look of disdain I had probably been wearing when sizing up her bag.

And if I had to guess, I bet SHE was thinking, “Wow. I could totally be a fashion consultant and help that poor girl out. She hardly packed anything.”

Turns out, everyone’s a consultant.

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Why I’m grateful to be packing…

30 May

I’m supposed to be packing this weekend. Grrr.

Loading up boxes is NOT fun. But you know what is even less fun? Being evicted.

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