I've been on a bit of a MidWest tour the past week, some of which lent itself to a few silly scenarios. One of which I'd like to share with you this fine Monday morning.
To preficit, I somewhat despise checking luggage. It's such an extra hassle - more lines to wait in before boarding, more waiting after landing, and just more stuff to carry around in general. So typically it's my life's goal to pack whatever I need for however long I need into carry-on luggage. Normally this is accomplished with no trouble and room to spare - overnight to STL, two days in OKC, no problemo. However, when trips are bordering a week or so, packing gets a little tight. Take this week for example. Headed out Tuesday evening for Oklahoma, flew to Denver Thursday evening, and am now at the airport ready to fly home. Six days no matter, I was not going to check baggage.
In order to do this I have to pack smart (the key is very few pairs of shoes - ballet flats work best), but I also cheat - just a little. I bring a wheelie bag and my bookbag (which I stuff with tennis shoes, books, hats, etc). And I also bring my purse/side-sling/whatever you want to call it. Obviously that's one extra bag over the limit. So, right before it's time to board I cinch my purse onto my bookbag and hand the attendant my boarding pass unnoticed. And don't worry all you frequent fliers, I don't take up any additional space in the overhead storage - the bookbag and purse fit under the seat in front of me, and no one is the wiser.
I've used this system for over a year now, and it's always been quite a slick process. Always, that is, until Thursday evening.
It started on the flight to Denver. I snagged a window seat with the perfect frame curvature to rest my weary head. Soon after a mom with little baby grabbed the aisle seat. Oh boy. And finally, to complete the happy trio, a large goateed truck-driver plopped right in the middle (he said he was lucky to choose us because we were little and he'd have plenty of room...). Anyway, everyone in the row was chatty and friendly, and at take-off the baby didn't even cry. Perfect, time to get in a little nap. Fifteen minutes in truck-driver elbowed my in the ribs and said, "you didn't expect to sleep the whole time did you?". No, no, of course not - that's not why my eyes were closed and my entire body was facing the window. Oh well, I'm up now.
Truck driver proceeded to entertain baby by playing with all of baby's toys and making lots of noises. Then truck driver realized if he pushed the flight attendant call button, baby looked intrigued and stopped fidgeting. So here we go. Ding-light-baby coo, ding-light-baby coo, ding-light-baby coo. I'm shrinking in my seat as the attendant call continues to go on and off, on and off. Very soon after two flight attendants, one from each end of the plane, literally run over to our seats and ask if we're having an emergency.
Nope, no emergency.
Are you sure? Usually when the call goes on and off five times in a row or more, it means there's an emergency; someone choking or something.
Nope, no problems here. Just doing what I can to entertain the baby. He likes it, see? Ding-light-baby coo.
Please don't do that again sir.
Fast-forward to landing. I was anxious to get off the plane, as Sara had been waiting at the airport for over an hour (her flight arrived earlier than mine). The mom had lots of baby things all over the place, so she asked if it's be okay to wait until everyone had left the plane. Sure, no problem. I made small talk with truck driver and waited (sort-of) patiently for the plane to clear out. When it was finally our turn, I made a mad dash to get outta there, and happily jumped on the train/subway/whatever at DIA to be transported to the main terminal.
That's where the actual problem began. I'm about to reach the place where friends and family wait longingly for their loved ones, when I realize (and momentarily stop breathing) - NO! I don't have my wheelie bag! Oh crap. Where in the world is my wheelie bag? Did I just let go and stop carrying it. Pretty sure I'm losing my mind. Had to go to the Southwest counter and get a pass to get back through security. Then go back through security. All the while Sara is waiting in the 45 Minute Parking Lot (for over an hour). I finally get through the A,B, and C terminals on the train, find the gate and talk to the flight attendant. She shakes her head - no bag. All the bags on the overhead belonged to the through passengers.
I really am losing my mind.
Did I leave it on the train? Did I forget to hold onto it on the walking sidewalk? Did someone take it on accident?
The flight attendant told me I had to wait until everyone boarded the continuing flight before she would check again. Ummm... that doesn't make much sense to me, to wait until the plane was super crowded with more bags and people. But, what choice was left? I sat, and continued thinking I was crazy - trying to remember where I left it.
Flight attendant went back in, then came back victorious - with the wrong black bag. Oh boy. She finally asked if I'd like to check myself. Yes please. I walked halfway down the aisle, looked to the right. There she was, in all her black piping glory, nametag and all. My clothes, my Chi, my shoes! Thank you St. Anthony.
An hour and a half after original arrival time, I hopped into Sara's car and off we went to Boulder. I can't thank her enough for her patience. And for the flight attendant allowing me back on the plane.
And now I know I'm only half crazy. And I won't forget my luggage again.
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