If You Want A Good Table, Present Yourself Well

We had, if we were lucky, 45 minutes to clear customs in Dallas Texas and make our connecting flight to a different alphabetized section of the American Airlines concourse. Half the people surveyed, believed it could be done, the other half did not. With an on time departure and favorable wind support, we landed with an abundance of 50 minutes. We were some of the first people off the plane and jogged to retrieve our luggage. As the big tongue of the luggage carousel burped up her bags, we were thrilled to see bags one and two. Expecting luggage number three any second, I called to my husband, “I’ll get in line for the customs inspector.” I pushed my cart slowly to the front of the line where I eventually had to pull off to the side, like a troubled car on the freeway. Watching the clock, I knew we were now down to 39 minutes. I returned to the carousels to nervously wait at my husband’s side.

After convincing Tony that we could replace our snorkels, masks, fins, beach shoes, for less than the cost and hassle of missing our flight, we dashed through customs, jumped over low barricades, pleaded with unhurried people in front of us at a security checkpoint, to arrive at an escalator. Bypassing the crowded escalator, I headed up the stairs with my nose planted downward, unaware there were six(?) flights of stairs ahead. Tony reached the monorail first and unaware that I wasn’t right behind him, he jumped on just as the doors closed. The monorail whizzed off with me on the other side. My husband’s last deciphered words “Gate B-25!!!”

We eventually reunited, at a different gate and moments after they had given away our seats.

We waited 2 hours for the hotel shuttle in the dark, rainy Dallas night. A series of urgent phone calls were made to take care of children and Tony’s PHD candidate who had flown in for his final meeting the following morning. During this wait, Tony decided to inquire again as to the whereabouts of the lost luggage. This time, the American Airlines representative found a notation attached to our computer information. The missing piece of luggage was left behind in Belize because there was not enough room on the flight!!!

Now the beauty of this story could not be realized without seeing the discarded luggage that caused such heartache. But first, it must be stated that I have pleaded with Tony for years to throw it away. A discussion ensued as to why OUR luggage was discarded instead of someone else’s. I think the photo answers the question.

We leave for Florida tomorrow with our daughters. Tony announced this morning that he was packed and could I please make sure the girls packed tonight. I walked into our bedroom and found his usual quality suitcase packed with his own belongings. The second suitcase that he always packs for the family, filled with wetsuits, snorkel gear and fins, was sitting alongside the first. I didn’t recognize it at first. I went to the basement to check for the hideous suitcase. It was sitting out as if Tony actually contemplated bringing it along. I photographed it for proof and carried it out to the trash.