Luggage on the Loose
Late, as usual. “For the information of passengers travelling to Sault Ste. Marie, this flight is delayed because ….” There was a long pause, which I hoped meant they’d changed their minds. The agent continued, completing her sentence with, “because the plane is not good.” I travelled quite a bit for work, had heard hundreds of sorry excuses and believed almost none, but a not good plane was a new one, even for this airline. Fifteen minutes later, they commenced boarding, with no further explanation, leaving me to wonder how a not good plane became good in a matter of minutes.
While this was unique on my list of annoying airline travel experiences, it paled in comparison to the wayward luggage adventures. I considered it a miracle when my suitcase and I arrived in the same city at the same time. My colleagues became nervous to travel with me, fearing my rebellious luggage would tempt their own to follow. Once, on a three-night trip to a conference in Philadelphia, my luggage arrived at my hotel a few hours before I left to catch my flight home. What was the point, really?
Another time on a two-night trip from Sault Ste. Marie to our Toronto office, my suitcase decided to stay back. Two days of frustrating and fruitless phone calls to the airline provided much entertainment to colleagues within earshot of my borrowed cubicle. When I returned to the airport to catch my return flight, I took a chance and checked the sea of stranded suitcases at the baggage level. Sure enough, there it was, commiserating with the other abandoned luggage. I approached an agent to inform him I was taking my bag and he waved me off like a fly. He probably didn’t want to hear another customer complaint and was just pleased the pile was reduced by one.
“You’re so lucky”, the unknowing people drooled. “You get to travel for work.” I didn’t understand why this made me lucky. At least when I was home, I knew what city my toothbrush was in.
My luggage debacles spilled over into my personal travel. On a trip to Italy with my husband and two young children, I heeded the advice of international travellers and scattered our clothing amongst our five checked suitcases. If one suitcase went missing, at least we had clothing options amongst the remaining four. I thought I’d beaten the luggage gods at their own game until our direct flight from Toronto landed in Venice but our five suitcases did not. We were fortunate to be staying with family who did their best to suit us up. Our tour of Venice the following day was done in a mix of borrowed and day old clothing. The only positive note (other than we were in beautiful Venice) was that in 1999, there were no cell phones and selfies. Our luggage was waiting for us when we finished our tour and I spent the evening organizing clothing into four piles and four suitcases.
We bought Air-Tags a few years ago but it did me little good knowing my bag was in Toronto when I was in California. It’s like telling me we’re out of wine and all the stores are closed.
I now travel with carry-on only, no matter how long the trip. I confirm the luggage allowance for every airline we travel on in the course of the trip and plan our accommodations around laundry facility availability. I’ve gotten over my aversion to wearing the same thing twice in a week (I do it at home so what’s the big deal?). To free up space in my suitcase, I wear layers of my bulkiest clothing and outerwear onto the plane. I start with a t-shirt, add a sweatshirt over top, followed by a hooded sweater, my jean jacket, a coat, and my wrap. I don’t care that I’m hunched over by the weight of it all. I’m still looking for a way to wear two pairs of shoes at the same time. My husband shakes his head but knows better than to try and sway me. I ignore threatening announcements asking passengers to check their luggage because the flight’s full and there’s limited space in the overhead compartments. As I board, I offer a friendly smile and a compliment in the hopes the agent doesn’t eye my carry-on and send it to baggage hell. Bum in seat, threats averted, and toothbrush within reach, I breathe a sigh of relief, remove my extra layers, and return to my upright position.
