Um, That’s My Bag
Dear That’s Life
For normal people, the excitement of a vacation begins when they arrive at their destination. I said ‘Normal people’. For me, I don’t even have to leave the airport let alone make it to the hotel before having something to write.
There’s a great moment in “Ocean’s Eleven” right before Matt Damon and George Clooney blow up the vault at the Bellagio in Las Vegas when they realize the remote detonator does not have batteries, rendering it useless and incapable of setting off the explosive. “You lose focus in this game for one second…,” Damon’s character comments to Clooney’s, who nods in affirmation. That is exactly how I felt when the Transportation Security Administration screened my carry-on bag, only to realize then that I had forgotten to pack my Swiss Army knife in my checked luggage.
With so much to take care of before going away, it is understandable that a detail may be missed. As it is attached to my wallet, I am always carrying the knife and it is a prized possession. This year’s Mother’s Day gift, it is one of my favorite gifts of all time. And yes: it was a request. Specifically asked for, it replaced one that had been lost a while before. I often use the knife and all of its gadgetry, and had no interest in turning it over the TSA, never to see it again. Besides its usefulness, it has real sentimental value and I was not giving up without a fight.
As soon as I heard the words, “Whose bag is this?” I knew exactly what I had not done. Unfortunately, so did my husband who looked at me and said, almost imploringly, “Please tell me you did not do what I think you did.” My laughter served as my answer, filling in the spaces where words would otherwise go. I was asked to accompany the nice TSA officer to an examination table to have my bag inspected. “It’s my knife,” I explained over and over again, laughing at myself all along the way. “I forgot to pack it in a checked bag.” Told to point to the item but not to actually handle it myself, the officer reached in and pulled out the sizable gadget. When he opened it up, saw the serrated blade and measured its length, his look said it all. I was going to lose my knife.
The officer was perplexed, struggling to believe that I, travelling with two small children and wearing Mickey Mouse ears as I walked through JFK, was truly the owner of the item. “This is yours???” he asked. I smiled, said that it was and that I loved this knife, explaining the occasion for which it was given. His disbelieving and semi-amused look intensified. “You got THIS for MOTHER’S DAY?” he said, his voice getting louder, laughing a little as he asked. I nodded. “And the blade has my monogram,” I added. Unable to believe his own ears, he stared at the blade, saw my initials there and knew I was not kidding. “Now do you see why I don’t want to lose it?” I asked. “It means a lot to me.” He had no words – he just stared at me in response.
Because I don’t look like an axe murderer, and because he was a nice guy, he gave me the option of checking the knife in a bag instead of losing it forever. Explaining that I did not have an extra bag to check, I looked up and noticed a luggage store within the terminal. Shaking his head in disbelief, my husband watched as I raced across and purchased a new bag – one that would only be used to hold a lowly Swiss Army knife, potentially being the lightest bag ever checked.
Grabbing the knife, placing it in the bag and running back out of security, I arrived at the check-in counter only to be informed that the time to check bags had expired. Despite explaining that the TSA officer had guaranteed the bag could be checked, I was turned away by two different airline agents. The supervisor listened to my story, validated my frustration like he had been trained to do, and referred me to the garbage can in the back of the terminal. There was nothing he could do, he said, and I could dispose of the weapon there. Still wearing my Mickey ears, I argued that it was not a “weapon” but rather a beloved Mother’s Day gift and then questioned why he thought throwing a knife in a garbage can was such a bright idea. He then suggested I go to the baggage holding area on the lower level, as they held bags for up to one week. My hopes, however, were dashed as the befuddled women behind the counter explained that this office was only for checked bags that had been unclaimed. If I was interested, there were lockers available – but in a completely different terminal. Having already wasted 40 minutes and the flight actively boarding, this was no time for a JFK sight-seeing tour.
Much to the supervisor’s chagrin, I was back. I explained that he had sent me to an office that could not help me, reminding him that I had been assured the bag would be checked. After additional back and forth, he took the bag with 30 minutes to spare. Placing the bag on a packed conveyer belt, he said, “You see all these bags? They come before yours.” I understood and thanked him for helping me out. Without a ‘You’re welcome’ or even a ‘You know I should not be doing this,’ he said, “I will not guarantee that this bag will even make your flight.” While he was only doing his job, I had only made a mistake and now I was hoping for it to be rectified. Exhausted, I took the claim ticket, thanked him again, received not even minimal eye contact, and hurried myself through security – again.
While I imagined a Seinfeld-like scene where Elaine’s luggage was sent to an alternate destination, such was not the case. What’s meant to be was meant to be and my brand new and basically completely empty bag made the flight, arriving with the rest of my luggage. Suffice it to say, even I can learn from my mistakes: the knife was the first thing packed in our checked suitcase.
MLW
As seen in the South Shore Standard
Note: This is my 100th post on my blog 
