Saturday, October 22, 2011

It was windy

We were in a cab shortly after 4am on October 7th.  Because we booked our flights separately (Michael was going round trip, I was not) we were flying with different carriers.  His flight had a layover in Phoenix and mine in Portland.  The Portland airport is nice!  It was a really nice and seamless trip until I arrived at O'Hare and my baggage seemingly didn't make it.
There was one lone bag on the baggage carousel, going round and round and I kept waiting for another one to come and it didn't so I was glad that I had all my running gear in my carry on.  I went over to the Alaska Airlines baggage rep and told her my bag was missing and she started asking me what it looked like and I pointed at the lonely suitcase making its way past us and I said "it looks like that, but it's red.  It's Swiss Army".  So she types some stuff into the system and scans my baggage code and tells me that it looks like my bag was mis-tagged and she pulls the lone suitcase off the carousel and I look at it and then I notice my handwriting on the bag tag and I say "oh, that's my bag".
Yeah.
It seems that at one point I had borrowed my mom's red luggage to go somewhere.  And it's ingrained in my tiny pea head that my luggage is red now.  It's not.  It's grey with orange goddamn trim.  It was my bag that had been circling the carousel ceaselessly while I fretted about how I would have to buy a whole new wardrobe in Chicago.
It gets better, though.
Seems there are five terminals at O'Hare.  Didn't know that.  Took a while (and a train) to make it over to where Michael was once he landed.  I'm half kicking myself and half laughing about the whole ridiculous baggage incident and I finally find Michael.  And?  They've lost his luggage.
For real, like.

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