Adventures in Claiming Baggage

In this delightful beginning of the New Year, my holiday has officially ended.  I am thrust back into the hot, humid stench known as Houston, Texas.  For most travelers, there is a  slight anxiety regarding checking in luggage.  Many airlines charge a monetary fee for checking in a bag, with additional charges for exceeding the weight limit.  Today, was not an exception, as I paid a grand total of $65.00 for checking in my 54.5 lb suitcase.  Upon finally arriving in Houston, I made the trek to the baggage claim.  There is usually a crowd surrounding the exact location where the luggage actually falls onto the carousel.  Husbands, boyfriends, and sons guard the slide, to be the first to catch the suitcases that are sent down by the baggage handlers.  There are many occasions when I have waited up to 30 minutes for my baggage to arrive.  On a few occasions, I have been tempted to climb up the slide thing myself, to assure that the handler-guys are actually doing their job and not jacking off.  However, most of those fellows likely spend more time jacking each other off than actually properly handling luggage.  

Luggage is significant to each person in a unique way. Many of us use luggage as a receptacle for their most prized possessions, including new shoes and clothes.  My luggage contained several new clothing purchases, and with great difficulty and effort, I was able to actually close the suitcase.  While we wait at the baggage claim, tension invades our usual contentment, as there is the pervasive fear that our baggage will not arrive.  Passengers stare with great focus and hope at the slide on which the baggage is sent.  All eyes are on the slide.  When one is able to identify and obtain his/her suitcase, car seat, or small piece of furniture, it is the best feeling.  I always notice when people get their luggage, how they strut with those smug expressions, the "Yeah, I got my suitcase and you didn't, sucker!".  Some of the suitcases look alike, and when you see one that you think is yours and it's not, it is the biggest let down.  Of course, being that I flew USAir, my suitcase did not arrive.  They happily charge money for these things, but, fail in executing their actual responsibility.  So, somewhere, my finds from Filene's Basement and H&M are floating in either Washington or Charlotte and hopefully not on the bodies of some airport employees who think that it is still Christmas.  

Stinkiest Airlines

I absolutely hate flying on airplanes.  If it weren't for Frank Rich's book, my iPod, and a cup of ice. . .err, Diet Coke. . .I would be driven to a Xanax, Valium, and Tequila cocktail.  Of course, I have a tendency to fly Southwest Airlines, and I am obsessed with being in boarding group A.  If I'm not in boarding group A, I am not having a good flight.

So, since I get my pick of the prime seats, I usually try to pick a window seat without pretzel and peanut debris that is as close as possible to the front and still a safe distance from the exit row.  Since I am South Asian, I am usually the one that people avoid, except for elde

rly couples who are interested in what makes me tick.  Occasionally, the single traveling chick sits in my row.  As we were nearing departure, and the middle seat next to me was empty, I was preparing to move my bag under that middle seat to secure extra legroom.  However, my 

plan was foiled, when a young man talking on his cellphone sat in the seat.  An odor began to permeate my nostrils very shortly afterwards.  My first reaction was to very casually get a whif of my own armpits, and all was well.  It eventually occurred to me that the young man adorned in athletic gear sitting beside me had been involved in a physical activity and did not bother to shower afterwards.  My instinct told me he probably had gone for several days without any cleansing procedure.  However, even stinky people are nice, and in spite of the B.O., he was kind of cute.  He asked to borrow my Rolling Stone magazine.  I 

would have burned it, however, I like the Obama cover.