<p>It's been rough out here in Southern California, with the temps in the low 70's. :-) Yesterday I thought I saw a cloud, but I later found I was mistaken.</p>
<p>Better get out the wool coats, Allena. 70's! You'll freeze!</p>
<p>Mini: Glad the anxious period is over. I imagine DD will sleep until noon.
We had an anxious time earlier this year. DD was en route to a college visit in Philly. She bought a ticket for a shuttle. Apparently the company only had two vans in service in lieu of their regular seven, and the driver had never driven in Philly before. They drove her around for five hours; she was the last person dropped off. We were so worried. Thank goodness she had her cell phone and she had the sense to call the college and us. The admissions rep let the driver have it when she arrived, and she told him in no uncertain terms that he would not be paid for that trip.</p>
<p>well i live in florida and i prayed for snow
across the bayou, they got a few patches of snow and we all thought they were damn lucky.
first time in 6 or 7 years...</p>
<p>The 'censor' makes is all look very dirty minded!</p>
<p>Nope, D was up at 8am, of course that is 11am in the east. Her grandmother called at 8:15. The rest of us were still asleep. This morning we had to go out and brave the store since her luggage didn't make it with her and she didn't really have any clothes left at home.Fortunately, she likes thrift stores and Value Village was empty, we even found her sister a pea coat. I found out from a friend that the Cincinnati airport has gotten even worse today, so I am really glad to have her home.</p>
<p>Mini:</p>
<p>I always carry on a change of clothes and toothbrush on a trip, however short. My luggage once made its way to Barcelona while I was traveling between Boston and London. Another time, it made its way from New York to Ottawa before coming back to Boston. Hope your D's luggage arrives before Tuesday!</p>
<p>Well, that deserves a story of course (I don't think this one is on my website):</p>
<p>Saint Riley Slocumb and the Maw of Hell</p>
<p>Transporting me on a recent trip to Dallas to deliver a series of homeschooling talks, United Airlines lost a box of my books. Seems that when I changed planes in Denver, one of the boxes accompanied me to Texas. The other had other plans, or at least there were other plans in store for it.</p>
<p>Disappointing, but far from the worst thing in the world. I had the notes for my talks with me in my carry-on, and even my clothes. Several boxes of books had arrived before me, and one was waiting at baggage claim. The plane hadnt crashed, or been rerouted by tornados; in fact, it wasnt even late.</p>
<p>Deep breath. Dont sweat too hard about that which you have no control, I muttered to myself, as I made a firm decision to take it in stride. And I strode over to the United baggage claim office.</p>
<p>And there he was. Riley Slocumb. I discovered his name from the security badge hanging from his waist. Uniformed, but certainly not in any way that might command respect. Tie an inch too narrow, in keeping with a body too thin, not from diet or exercise, but from some kind of existential insult. Age indeterminate I guessed 55 long, brown-gray hair slicked back high on the center of the scalp, bald spots pushing back from his temples on either side. We shared look-alike moustaches. Eyes not exactly dull, and not exactly bloodshot, not physically tired. Definitely world-weary.</p>
<p>Rough day, I began, then realizing this was a very odd way to introduce myself.</p>
<p>He looked up from the standing desk.</p>
<p>They lost one of my boxes, I sighed.</p>
<p>And then, first dimly, and then somewhat excitedly, I realized that from his point of view, there wasnt anything appropriate for him to do or say, other than deal with the mountain of paperwork.</p>
<p>You see, Riley cant put on a happy face and provide service with a smile. People, none of whom ever come to see him by choice, and all of whom would prefer not to even know he existed, might think he was mocking them. Commiseration is not what they desire, not from the appointed representative of the very company that had just shipped their new titanium-headed golf clubs to Bulgaria. They want action, they want answers, they want their bags and boxes and fishing poles and skis and childrens car seats, and they want them now and these are just the things he is virtually certain not to be able to provide.</p>
<p>Even before he could summon up a response to my question, and fully explain the paperwork, a violently energetic woman stormed into the office. Her gestures were writ large, and while I might have written that her painfully red hair was standing straight up, it would then have required a further note that the hair didnt know which way up was and so had, independently, decided to cover all the bases.</p>
<p>She took my bag, the tsunami half-shouted.</p>
<p>Who? inquired Riley, careful not to offend, but also careful not to expend the daily allotment of concern. It was only 2 p.m., and it was going to be a long afternoon.</p>
<p>The story poured out. Two women had virtually identical black, rolling carry-on bags standing next to each other at the baggage claim ramp. The first woman, after grabbing her checked luggage, walked off with the wrong carry-on as well. She might be well on her way to the Presidential compound in Crawford by now, for all we knew. I looked down at my black, rolling carry-on bag, smug in spying the pink-and-white lace ribbon I had tied to it still affixed to the handle. Good planning, I congratulated myself, using my mind to pat myself on the back. But I was caught up short by the disappointing realization that my good planning hadnt absented me from Riley Slocumbs acquaintance.</p>
<p>Im sorry, maam, said Riley, calibrating his comments carefully, But we are not responsible for carry-on baggage.</p>
<p>But, but sputtered the walking volcano, shaking from hairs end to feet, all my travel information, my wallet, my cell phone, my hotel reservation, my address book, my everything is in that bag! I remembered my mother having taught me to never put the important stuff in checked baggage always carry it with you on the plane. I shivered.</p>
<p>Riley paged his supervisor, and the supervisor and Mount St. Helens went out into the baggage claim hall, where there was now an unaccompanied black bag. Yikes! I had visions they might have to call in the dog sniffers, or the bomb squad, or even evacuate the airport and I hadnt filled in my paperwork yet. I picked up the pen. They simply took the questionable bag back to the supervisors office, and spilled out the contents on his desk.</p>
<p>In Rileys office, air molecules were now slowing down, and new air filled the vacuum where the supervisor and Vesuvius had been. But before I could blurt out my next question, Riley now standing at his post writing, a short, middle-aged, mousy-blonde woman, her face covered in shame, sheepishly entered the room.</p>
<p>Part II to follow</p>
<p>I I left my coat on the plane, she mumbled apologetically, looking humiliated, as if she had just told her mom she had lost her lunch money. Can I go back and get it?</p>
<p>Im sorry, replied Riley curtly, being careful not to look up, and punching numbers into an unseen machine below the countertop. People arent allowed into the restricted area without a ticket or boarding pass.</p>
<p>Well, she pleaded, looking like she was about to burst into tears, Can you check with the plane, please?</p>
<p>Flight number?</p>
<p>1252.</p>
<p>Riley picked up the blue phone. I think he had three phones black, blue, and off-white used for various parts of the airport.</p>
<p>This is Charley-B. A women left a He looked up momentarily.</p>
<p>Light red, cloth.</p>
<p>A light red, cloth overcoat on flight </p>
<p>1252.</p>
<p>1252.</p>
<p>Can you get back to me if you find it? The tone of the question, intended to be overheard, sounded as if he wasnt very hopeful.</p>
<p>And now I realize that Rileys past two encounters, while not particularly unique, are somewhat unusual for him. For about 98 percent of the encounters he has, the customer is right. Right, not as in The customer is always right, but really right, as in the airline has screwed up and the passengers anger is justified. He cant smirk behind his back at customers who are being unreasonable, like the hotel concierge who makes fun of the guest who complains that the chocolates on the pillow are not of her favorite Belgian semi-sweet variety. No, people just want the belongings they had possessed only a few hours earlier. We feel, in some fundamental way, violated, and that, in having misplaced our luggage, they have taken away a piece of our identity. Now if theyd only allow us on to the tarmac .</p>
<p>Are you here as a result of your karma, or are you being punished, or did you get this job as a promotion? I ask, handing him the paperwork.</p>
<p>The shadow which has been inhabiting Rileys face lifts ever-so briefly as he glances at the papers. There has been real human contact, and, perhaps, someone else has glimpsed, if but momentarily, his daily predicament. </p>
<p>Got any kids? I smile.</p>
<p>All grown.</p>
<p>Dog?</p>
<p>He smiles. We share an interest in preventing cruelty toward animals. He checks the computer. My box, he says, was checked onto the plane in Denver, which means it definitely made it to the Dallas airport.</p>
<p>Can we inquire back at the place where they unloaded? I ask, of course not knowing the first thing about how airport baggage handling works.</p>
<p>He picks up the blue phone. This is Charlie-B. Theres a box that should have come off Flight 748 that hasnt made it to baggage claim.</p>
<p>He has reached another operative on a blue phone, I assume. The baggage handlers have gone off to lunch.</p>
<p>Do you drink?</p>
<p>He grins. He is now into the spirit of our meeting for worship. Gave it up years ago.</p>
<p>Good thing, I reply.</p>
<p>I ended up waiting another 35 minutes by the baggage claim office. No box turns up. The frenzied and fuming, irate and irritated, miffed and peeved file their way toward Riley Slocumb. He hands out and assists in the completion of paperwork, being wary of offering anything that could remotely be construed as a promise, or arouse even the slightest wisp of expectation.</p>
<p>If we find your luggage, he says to one and all with little in the way of feeling in his voice, we will do our best to deliver it to you within 24 hours, so be sure to leave a phone number along with your address. And, he continues without the slightest hint of enthusiasm as he points to an 800-number on the carbon-copy of the form, you can call this number for any updates. </p>
<p>This was, of course, just a way to make sure folks would move along and out of his very circumscribed sphere of influence. I began to fantasize about how my box of homeschooling books made their way to Portugal, and was discovered by a baggage handler who took the books home to his family. Next thing I knew, three years later, I received an unsolicited invitation to address the Lisbon Home Education Association.</p>
<p>I now understand that I must get out of here. I am being sucked into this maw of hell, and if I stay much longer, I may not be able to leave. There should be a sign above the door to the baggage claim office, in the manner of Dantes Inferno, Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here. I will leave Riley to confront his demons, not with flaming sword, but with a strangely courageous, saintly equanimity. A holy diffidence. Perhaps he has been specially selected for this job, or it was discovered that he fits the psychological profile, or perhaps, like Odysseus, the fates have tied him to this mast and he now awaits the arrival of the harpies.</p>
<p>I am not sure whether I should pray for him, or to him, and shall have to meditate on that.</p>
<p>(P.S. The box of books was returned to me, after my speaking engagements, having been shipped off to OHare Airport in Chicago before my first cup of coffee in the early morning, never ever having touched down in Denver. It is part of Rileys destiny that, as to the outcome of my story, as with all the others, he will remain, forever, without a clue.)</p>
<p>OH, Mini...
We need a new section of CC: Travelers' Tales.</p>
<p>My S went from London to Manchester by coach. He checked his duffel that contained a week's worth of clothing. When he got off in Manchester, he found that someone had gone off with his duffel. He dutifully filled out a claim, but little hope he had of ever recovering his duffel. He got himself a toothbrush, but he waited to get back to London to make a foray into GAP and restock. He has learned the value of his knapsack.</p>
<p>Not to be cruel but I was thinking of all of you this afternoon while sipping ice tea in our jacuzzi and admiring the flowers in our garden. :)</p>
<p>Mini - I'm so glad to hear that your daughter finally made it home. I was telling my husband about her ordeal last night and he was worried sick for her, imagining our daughter in her place.</p>
<p>She "weathered" the ordeal just fine. She is has been helping me with a magazine article I am working on called "Hyrogrifix" (which is on reading), went for a long walk with the dogs, helped pick out a video for tonight (Monsieur Ibrahim), tuned up her violin to play Christmas carols at the local hospital tomorrow (our family's only Christmas tradition), read an article on the "psychoanalzing of Hinduism" (a terrific article in the latest UChicago alumni mag), and listened to her sister's piano practice.</p>
<p>No sign of luggage.</p>
<p>"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."</p>