It’s Sunday, and I want something interesting to read. Nobody updates their blogs on Sundays. While I pouted, my chest went ‘thud’ with conviction. “You haven’t updated your blog in some time, let alone on a Sunday.” Yes, conscience, it is true. And why not be the provider of my own entertainment?
Let me take you on a journey. Not a very long one. Just a short flight to Thailand that I was on about 2 weeks ago. I was going to visit friends and take in a seminar or two. Initially, I was very nervous. I rarely travel without my best travel accessory: The Mister. He takes care of everything from packing to paying attention to detail to money conversion to flight numbers and times. This time, it was all up to me! Everything went smoothly, even my suave “Whatever, I’ll just throw it out,” when I realized I’d have to walk all the way back to the gift shop to get a plastic bag for my mini-bottle of hand sanitizer. My eye shades were at the ready for my devious plan of sleeping gate-to-gate on my 3 a.m. flight – a plan that worked marvelously well. My attitude was getting a little cocky as I strutted to the luggage carousel. I’ve got this! Oh yeah.
Oh look! A black suitcase that looks familiar! It must be mine!
*lug it off the carousel*
Oh, wait. Nope. Not mine.
*put it back ON the carousel, which is pretty much admitting that I’m an idiot that doesn’t know my own luggage, or a thief that got caught, or a snoopy person that likes to touch other people’s stuff*
My confidence was shaken. Which one of these is my suitcase?? I can’t remember what it looks like! I don’t want to look like an idiot again, even though, clearly, I am one.
With each full rotation of the carousel, I could feel my anxiety rising. What if I never recognize my suitcase? Why is this so difficult? Why haven’t I helped The Mister retrieve luggage before so that I could be prepared for the easiest part of the trip?
I decided to go with the obvious route: wait until the last bag is announced. For sure by then, my bag is present, I just have to determine which one it is. I must have watched my bag go around at least 3 times before I got the guts to touch it. A surge of relief mixed with a heavy dose of victory swept over my when I saw The Mister’s calling card attached to the top handle. Ah, yes. It all looks so very familiar now.
The first bag that I lifted off the carousel? It was still circling ’round the last time I saw it.