We didn't get kissed...

We watched the oddly-shaped black piece of plastic travel along the moving conveyor belt, the thing that didn’t belong, among the endless sea of black bags. There were suiter trolleys, rolling garment bags, wheeled duffels, and this lone piece of plastic.

The arrival of the luggage from the plane had started off with a bit of humor. A piece of carnival music played just prior to the commencement of the conveyor belt. We, the weary airplane travelers, were pleased by the promptness of the delivery, especially since the plane’s departure had been delayed. But then, we saw that piece of plastic.

A tall, solidly-built man hefted a large piece of luggage off the belt and soon realized that the piece of plastic belonged to his now partially-destroyed bag. He called out and the piece was thrown to him by a traveler lined up further down the belt. All of us breathed sighs of empathy.

I admired the lovely matched set of light gray Samsonite luggage the couple standing in front of us had by their side. In an earlier discussion they’d told us they were going on a cruise also. The guy would be standing up for his middle-aged friend who was remarrying after his wife’s death. Clearly they had purchased this luggage for the occasion, as their carry-on pieces were in pristine condition.

Our bags looked forlorn. We were using the suitcase pieces that represented the survival of the fittest: a relatively new and barely within the size limits dark gray suitcase with slider wheels, the Travelpro black duffel that has broken zipper pulls and cannot be locked, and the brown Chaps piece with fabric that looks brushed. Well, that was how they looked before this last plane ride. The newest suitcase’s fabric has pulled out from around the handle, the duffel has lost all covering on the corners, and the brown piece would only be coveted by a street person. These last two will have to be “retired.”

Nowadays, there is never anyone around the luggage conveyors to police whether people are picking up luggage that belongs to them. Nor is there anyone around to whom one could report damage and file a claim. And, after the weariness of travel, few would have the stamina to face the confrontation. We don’t. We growl and voice our complaints to each other.

This last trip, my husband said to me, “We are having increasingly more damage to our suitcases each time we fly…and today we had to pay American Airlines $25-$35 per piece for this opportunity.” It was at this time that I replied, “We should have gotten kissed, because we sure got s------.”

However, I give the Ft. Lauderdale airport credit for lifting my spirits as we left. When the sliding doors opened, another piece of carnival music played, and a voice said, “You’re beautiful.” My head was held a little higher.