I am freshly back from the Mom 2.0 Summit in Laguna Niguel (also known as yet another place that is more beautiful than the place in which I live) feeling recharged and renewed and excited about diving headfirst into my newest professional project which is tentatively titled: GETTING WHAT YOU WANT ALIMARTELL.
But, of course, before I share those stories and photos, because I am ME, I have to share a ridiculous story with you first. Of course I do.
I own this suitcase.
It’s not pretty, it’s not me, it’s not special. It is, however, what one would call unique. It’s grey and bright orange and blue. There was reason for this, of course. If you have a suitcase that no one else has, it’s really easy to spot in the airport. I’m not an excellent flyer, really. I am not squeamish about air travel in general, as in, I’m not worried about turbulence or crashing into large mountains or possible water landings (I mean, haven’t you seen the safety instructions—water landing are full of fun slides and smiles—totally not scary at all!) but sometimes I suffer from a wee bit of claustrophobia and an even more wee bit of vomit-phobia. So, sitting in the middle seat is kind of my own special nightmare.
All of this is to say that once I get off the the airplane, let the Nexus booth take a snapshot of my eyes (please step back a little), all I want to do is escape from the airport as quickly as possible. So, you can see why having an all-black suitcase may prolong the time spent in the baggage claim area, yes? That’s why I have one that’s BRIGHT! and different and odd-ly shaped and weird.
Last night I was tired. It was almost 10pm and I had been traveling almost all day, including a 4-hour flight from SNA where I had to sit in between a chatty Cathy and a man who picked his nose with abandon and ate a homemade stinky sandwich. I just wanted to get home. I grabbed my bag and booked it straight to the passenger pick-up zone.
When I am almost home, I get the call. “Oh hi, Mrs. Martell, we have your suitcase here in the United terminal. You took the wrong one. Can you please come back to the airport for a hasty switcheroo?”
I left the airport with someone else’s bag.
Not mine. Not the blue and orange and grey bag that was filled with 7 different branded water bottles and notes written on The Ritz paper and my pretty, pretty dresses. Nope. Not mine. Someone else has this ridiculous bag.
WHAT ARE THE CHANCES, you might ask?
Well, when you are me, the chances are high. Because everything ridiculous happens to me.
So, a hasty switcheroo on my part was in order.
But, replace “on my part” with “on my saint of a husband’s part.”
And replace “hasty” with “incredibly time-consuming.”
The lesson learned here is this:
No matter how hard I try, I am not that unique.
I don’t know why I didn’t already know this.
Tip of the day: Always check your luggage tag before heading home.