To call today a catch-up day after my BlogPaws adventure would fall somewhere between overly optimistic and liar-liar-pants-on-fire territory. In fact, if Tom asks me one more time if I’m caught up, I may just punch him in the nose. Let’s see … I’ve been at my desk 9 hours. I was gone 72. I’m sleep deprived. I’m awash in ideas and new pet blogger pals. And, I’m still in my PJs. So, um, no … I’m nowhere near caught up. So, please … stop … asking.
First, the good news: I came home and slept 12 straight hours, which is a good place to start. Now, the bad: I’m still overwhelmed by all I learned, everyone I met and the many, many things I want/need/crave to accomplish.
It will take me weeks, if not months, to get through everything. So, for today, perhaps I’ll merely tell the tale of my suitcase.
Really.
The Art of Suitcase Battle
It’s been ages since the old gal got pressed into service. Since she is made well, by a big-name suitcase maker, and because she rarely gets used, it NEVER dawned on me that perhaps I should test her convenience-laden features before departure.
Two words: Big Mistake
On Friday, I got up at 3 am, was out of the house at 4 am, and flipping out over a suitcase malfunction at 5:15 am … right there curbside at passenger drop-off.
The problem? The telescoping handle that makes rolling through the airport possible, thus saving a nervous traveler much trouble and muscle strain.
The @#$@# thing would NOT budge.
Tom somehow managed to get the handle up, but the chances of me being able to repeat that feat seemed slim. (P.S. I nearly wrote “get it up.” Oops.)
“Don’t push it down all the way, and you should be fine,” he said, as I rolled dubiously away.
That strategy may work for someone who doesn’t need to ask strangers for help getting said suitcase into and out of the overhead bins on the plane … because it seems everyone on the planet has the knee-jerk urge to snap handles down.
The big guy I asked for help on my first-leg flight from Denver to Chicago snapped the handle down all the way and sealed my fate.
Two separate men tried to help me in the O’Hare concourse as I tugged, begged, and pleaded with the handle. Even they gave up, leaving me with a you-are-so-screwed look on their face as they slunk off.
I had a LONG walk to my connecting flight gate. So, I tried looping my briefcase strap through the now-stuck handle. I dragged it awhile that way, but it kept tipping over.
I tried wedging my fingers in the small gap I could get between the handle and the suitcase, but even though I’m short, I had to walk all hunched over.
Bathroom Suitcase Wrestling
So, I drag the darn thing into a bathroom stall to regroup. I decide to wedge the suitcase against the door, brace my feet, and pull really hard.
I’ve always been bad at physics, so I ended up alternating between leaning over and sitting up, trying to find just the right angle.
Futile?
Oh my, yes.
But funny too.
You see, every time I leaned forward the Magic Toilet Eye that automatically flushes when you’re gone so that you don’t have to touch anything assumed I had left my post.
Tug. Flush. Wrestle. Flush. @#$@. Flush.
So, not only am I getting splash back with each flush, but I’m convinced that everyone is wondering what on earth is going on inside my stall … especially the women waiting in line, because you know there’s always a line.
Yep. I’m that girl.
A Second Miracle
I hoist the chronic offender the best I can and set out for my connecting flight. Except … you know how airports are … I trudged quite far before I realized I’d gotten turned around after All-Star Bathroom Wrestling and had turned the wrong way when I emerged, mad and sweaty.
I made a course correction and got to pass many people (again) for whom I’m sure I provided endless entertainment. You. Are. Welcome.
Despite my austere packing, she is still pretty heavy.
I give up.
I sidle off to the side of the concourse, and I begin again to tug, beg, and plead.
Someway, somehow, it comes loose.
I happily roll my way to the gate.
Oh, No You Didn’t!
Alas, the plane between Chicago and Columbus, Ohio, was tiny. My suitcase (and many others from fellow passengers) got red-tagged at the gate and taken by baggage handlers.
And, what’s the first thing the guy did?
Say it with me!
He snapped the handle all the way down.
Son of a @#$@
A Third Miracle?
When we land in Columbus, I lug the suitcase into the concourse and find a place for my rematch. And, by some voodoo magic, it comes free after just 5 minutes of struggling.
I put my bag into the BlogPaws minivan myself. (Thanks to Destinations by Design’s Paul Buchanan for the ride. I’m sorry I asked if you were “someone’s Dad who got roped into picking me up.” It’d been a rough, long day.)
When we arrived at the hotel, I nearly had to wrestle the doorman for my case, fearing he’d instinctively snap the handle down.
My Q-Tip Solution
BlogPaws was a non-stop event. Seriously, even the breaks felt break-neck, so I didn’t have time to think or worry about the suitcase until LATE Saturday night.
I pulled. I banged the case. I tried everything.
After about an hour of struggling, I finally figured out the glitch causing the handle to stick, but there was no way for me to really fix it on the road.
My only solution was to plug the holes from which the tabs are supposed to release when the handle button is pushed. I figured, if I could keep the handle from being pushed all the way down, then I’d be able to prevent the genetic programming that makes people snap suitcase handles down.
I began rifling through my meager supplies (because goodness knows the TSA doesn’t allow much).
And, voila! Q-Tips with plastic handles (rather than cardboard). I bought this little case full of Q-Tips years ago. It stays in my travel supply storage.
So, I stuffed one end in the hole and wrapped the rest around the bar. I put one on each side, and ta-da! The handle could not be pushed down fully.
My only fear? That it would look like some kind of explosive rigging and cause me airport security hassles.
You see, I got frisked in Denver before my first flight because of my suspicious sweater. Not kidding. But, that’s a story for another day.
I want to see a pic of that suspicious sweater!
I’m catching up on blog posts as I sit in my sister’s living room and she is wondering what the heck I’m laughing so hard over. Sorry to laugh and snort at your expense. I can just picture the bathroom stall fiasco!
I snorted with laughter…but I would have been buying a new case in the airport store and felt guilty about the money…You? You got a workout, a blog post and kept your money.
Too funny (and how could I not have come here after you write on FLX: read about my bathroom wrestling match with luggage? That was a link I HAD to follow…)
Thanks for laughing, Barb. My sis emailed me to say that she read it at school (she teaches 3rd grade), and her students wanted to know if everything was OK because she laughed so hard that she began to cry.
…oh yeah, we saw that sweater…just a bit too ethnic looking for TSA’s comfort I guess.
I guess so, Teri. Still … it’s one CUTE sweater. So, they can just stuff it.
In the spirit of sharing suitcase disasters- I recently had a family disaster that required a trip to Canada. ONE flight, direct, what could happen. I arrived to find that the entire top of my suitcase was ripped off. Now really.
HOW does that happen? The airline rep insisted that it was still OK since the zipper still worked. My undies hanging out the side did not impress him. I tried to explain that it did not matter that the zipper was intact as the TOP WAS RIPPED OFF.
Two days later I was given a voucher for $300 in exchange for the rolling amputee suitcase. Happy, albeit bizarre, ending.
Oh, Cathy … I’m so sorry. I know that trip wasn’t easy from the get-go, then to have your suitcase ravaged. I’m glad you stuck with it and got the $300 to replace the now convertable suitcase. Maybe tear the whole top off and let Kes play with it.
Oh yikes. Travel woes! And things sure aren’t easy in airports these days, even with a functioning suitcase.
Once, my 2 year old nephew was randomly selected to be wanded and patted down at the security checkpoint…
Thanks for the entertainment! It was a nice break from my frantic catch-up-from-BlogPaws mode.
I’ve tried unsuccessfully to find a photo online of it, but it’s an Eddie Bauer sweater that’s part sweater, part shawl. The two front panels are very long (like to my knees), so you tuck one side up inside the sweater and the other side can hang or be tossed over the other shoulder like a shawl. Think doubly draped across the front.
I often get cold on planes, so it seemed perfect.
I guess they thought I could be hiding something under there. So … some girl frisked me and had me unfurl the sweater so that they could see my darling self inside (I was wearing a t-shirt underneath).
I suppose I should have considered it a “coat” and sent it through on the conveyor with my laptop, suitcase, and separate (tiny) bag of liquids.
“Suspicious sweater”? What’s that about?
That much trouble over a suitcase? I’m amazed. I hope the trip was worth it. The wrestle, flush, wrestle, flush bit was hysterical.
I had a colleague who used to Fed Ex her luggage around the country. She must’ve been on one beefy expense account.
I envied her.
Very funny post.
Thank you for laughing. It was so pathetic. I mean I knew everything would work out one way or another, but it was just a ridiculous way to begin my adventure. I ended up checking the bag on the way back for $25 just to avoid any further mishaps.
YOU are a hoot! I just read this and don’t know if I will sleep now because I have a case of the giggles. It is sad to have silent giggles and just the dog stares at me like I have issues. In any case, you summed it up and said it with such humor. Thanks for the smiles and good 2 meet you!
Thanks. I laughed so hard while writing that I made myself cry. Tom was like, “What ARE you doing in there?”