Bags Fly Free
I boarded a plane in Hartford that was bound for Denver. There I would change planes and fly to LAX. Once in Los Angeles, I would have just enough time to rent a car and get to an Oscar party.
But a mere ten minutes before takeoff, I learned that my connecting flight from Denver to LAX had been canceled. As instructed, I grabbed my carry-on and bolted off the plane. Of course I wasn’t actually instructed to bolt, I just threw that in to reinforce the idea that I hurried off the aircraft. There is nothing worse than being in a line of twenty anxious people while a lone gate agent single handedly tries to reroute everyone.
Unfortunately, the other affected passengers turned out to be much quicker bolters and I still found myself at the back of the line. The older couple at the head of the line, who didn’t appear to be, but obviously were, the best bolters of the bunch, were telling the agent they could easily get their luggage at LAX and would be happy to fly to Burbank instead.
In a stroke of luck, the very plane that was supposed to fly us to Denver was then scheduled to continue on to Burbank. For those of you who don’t know, Burbank is the other, smaller, easier to deal with airport in Los Angeles. With the Denver (and ultimately Burbank) bound plane due to depart in moments, I announced, from the back of the line, that I too could go to Burbank.
With the pressure on, I quickly agreed that I could also retrieve my luggage from LAX and I scurried (note that scurrying is not exactly bolting but you better believe I was moving) back onto the plane.
As I settled into my seat, it hit me. My well-traveled, maroon colored Eddie Bauer duffel, the one that was at that moment on the very plane that would take me to Denver and then Burbank was about to be unloaded and sent via some other route to LAX.
Since this seemed a tad (okay more than a tad) absurd, I decided to take action and I leapt from my seat (surely you can see that leaping was far more appropriate than both bolting and scurrying). The flight attendant readily agreed that although there was very little logic involved in my situation, there was, alas, “nothing she could do.”
At the same time, the couple from the head of the line, they the most excellent of bolters, was having a similar discussion with another flight attendant. They had no more luck than I did and soon enough we took off for snowy Denver, presumably leaving our bags to make their own way to the west coast.
Despite the afore mentioned description of my maroon-colored bag as “well traveled”, this would in fact be it’s first solo trip and I wasn’t sure it was ready for such an undertaking. But ready or not, the well traveled, not solo tested, maroon-colored Eddie Bauer bag was on it’s own.
Meanwhile, snow was falling in Denver. As we got closer, the captain asked the flight attendants to take their seats; this is never a good sign. As our plane was tossed roughly about, I couldn’t help but wonder how the maroon bag was making out on its way to LAX.
Much later I would learn that the bag had flown to Baltimore, then had changed planes, and was now bound for of all places, Albuquerque. The maroon bag had never to my knowledge, been to Albuquerque, nor had it ever expressed a desire to go there, but was apparently now bound for the “Duke City.”
According to the bag, the nickname is a reference to the Duke of Albuquerque (whoever that is). This is just a little travel tidbit the bag picked up on its journey.
Back on my plane, the pilot pulled off a skillful landing in the Mile High City. Did you think the bag was the only one picking up tidbits? I have no idea how the pilot in Albuquerque managed. Ideally, the maroon bag would have taken notes about the landing but as luck would have it, the notebook was with me in my carry-on.
While the bag was no doubt cursing its lack of notebook in Albuquerque, back in Denver, new passengers began boarding the plane. I began that time honored tradition of hoping no one would dare sit next to me. Of course “hoping” is often not quite enough so I sometimes add a scowl or two to help the cause. All my efforts would be for naught however as the flight was full and soon enough a pleasant young woman settled in to my left.
Do not think for a moment the maroon-colored bag was not having a similar experience in Albuquerque. I’m quite sure that as the new luggage was loaded, the bag was hoping that none of the new bags (some likely in really tacky colors) would be placed or possibly thrown on top of it. The bag would likely throw a scowl or two in as well and this, let me tell you, is not a pretty sight.
Back in Denver, despite taking off in a snowstorm, the flight to Burbank was uneventful and upon landing, I made a beeline (no where near bolting but faster than a scurry) for the baggage office. There, I handed my claim check to the agent and waited. Finally she found the record. “It says here, you agreed to be separated from your bag”, said the helpful baggage agent. I admitted this was true and told her I simply needed to know where the bag was so I could arrange to pick it up.
“Well”, said the formerly helpful but now unhelpful baggage agent, “we don’t know where it is.”
Apparently, the airline wants you to sign off on being separated from your bag but they leave out the little detail involving their lack of ability to track such a bag.
“If I had to guess”, said the increasingly unhelpful baggage agent.
“Guess away” said the increasingly unhappy passenger as he scribbled in his notebook.
“It probably went through Baltimore and Albuquerque and will land at LAX in a few hours.”
As it turns out, her guess was right.
So, as I made my way to the Oscar party, stopping first to pick-up a toothbrush and underwear (I had the notebook but the bag had the essentials), the well-traveled maroon-colored Eddie Bauer bag was somewhere between Albuquerque and Los Angeles.
The bag landed sometime after Seth McFarlane’s ill-fated bit with William Shatner and spent the night locked in an office where it managed to stay out of trouble.
The next day, I went to LAX to reunite with the bag.Despite it’s solo journey, it appeared to be no worse for the wear. Now I do have a new concern, however. The bag is apparently making plans to go the Bahamas. I can only hope it’ll take me along on a companion ticket.
