While I can't speak for the individual needs, wants and aspirations of every person who gets on an airplane, I believe it is safe to assume that the reason we pack suitcases is not for the anticipatory pleasure of the trip or the security of having trusted luggage by your side as you arrive at the airport. At least for me, it's about stuff I want to use when I get there.
I am not the kind of gal who believes everything can be fit into an overhead compartment if you push hard enough. I carried on my computer, various chargers and other electronics (camera, phone, etc.), jewelery, toileteries, and the basics for a 6 a.m. flight (light reading, light work).
I surrendered five days of business clothing and the heavier work files to my trusty hunter green Eddie Bauer wardrober. At 5 a.m. yesterday morning, I had complete faith that when they attached the San Diego tag to my old buddy we'd be together again soon.
But the plane rolled away from the gate and then rolled back... something with one of the engines. Something that took over an hour of pre-dawn cross checks as we sat.
Something that makes you wonder if the plane spontaneously appeared on the tarmac moments before they asked us to climb aboard or if this was maybe the very first time they were using this one.
So the 6 a.m. flight boarded at 5:30 a.m. left after 7 a.m. and arrived at JFK within minutes of my 8 a.m. flight to San Diego.
There were six of us on the Buffalo flight who were supposed to be on the San Diego flight but it left a little ahead of schedule-- we got to get in the long line.
At the end of the JFK Long Line are a half dozen chipper people who are used to dealling with screaming, nasty, frustrated people for whom the airline has changed their plans without notice.
It's a tough job, no doubt. But it's still not a good excuse to make up stuff.
Sadly, I think the only reason people take those high-tension jobs is for the privilege of making stuff up. I wouldn't call them sociopaths, but esteemed clinicians might.
The Buffalo Six contained four in my group and two women from a local university also attending a conference in San Diego (eventually).
Option One, booking for the next San Diego flight leaving at 7 p.m. was quickly replaced by dumping the lot of us on a 9 a.m. to Long Beach with the promise of ground transportation to San Diego.
Could we have this is writing? I asked to be greeted with a withering glance which at once said I was unsophisticated. immature and not particularly bright.
"It is attached to your itinerary in the computer."
A colleague asked if our luggage would be on the Long Beach plane. Withering Glance 2 was actually a little worse than the one I got. Of course, it would be there regardless of how whiny and needy we were.
If you've flown Jet Blue to the West Coast, I'll bet you see where this is heading.
Long Beach is a lovely little airport and the people there were very nice.
However they didn't have a clue about this ground transportation request or a computerized baggage system that could tell us where ours might have wandered. They did call the guy in the back and had him double check, but no Buffalo bags there.
They eventually found a van to take us with a quick curbside negotiation that felt a little like we might be smuggled aliens (with our lack of luggage being a dead giveaway).
The driver was a very pleasant guy who mentioned he hoped JetBlue paid him for this one... they were already 90 days past due on the first runs he did for them. I instantly saw his invoices sitting on the desk at the JFK Long Line.
Our luggage would be on the 7 p.m. San Diego flight, we wre told and would be delivered to our repsective hotels that night.
We knew this was true because we wrote our bag tag numbers and contact information on the back of a piece of scrap paper for the nice people at Long Beach.
I had planned to use my Saturday San Diego time (back when arrival was 6 and not 13 hours after we left) to work on a project due Monday. The large file was in my hunter green Eddie Bauer wardrober, which did not arrive that night.
Jet lag, worry about that pending project and my one stinking set of clothing (now at 22 hours on my back) inspired me to get on the phone and start asking questions.
Lots of people at Jet Blue promised to help. None did.
Around 3 a.m. I sent them an email. About 3:30, I started a one-hour phone relationship with a delightful man named Ryan at their toll-free number who really wanted to figure it out. He was earnest, determined and sincere (no chance to ever work the JFK Long Line). I believed in Ryan enough to spend most of the call listening to the Backstreet Boys on hold music.
In the end, Ryan could only tell me that San Diego baggage claim didn't open until 11 a.m.
At 8:30 , a female version of Ryan called to say they had my email and were working on it.
I took a shower to discover my hotel room was missing both a robe and shampoo. I washed my hair, socks, underwear and sweater in shower gel.
Another JetBlue call came in from the baggage center in Utah. Was my bag a floral print with a tag that said "Roxie"? No, it was still a hunter-green-Eddie-Bauer-wardrober-on-wheels-with-a-telescoping-handle-and-the-initials-JMG-embroidered on the front, just like it was the last 38 times in very recent memory I have described it to people who claimed to reperesent JetBlue.
With all else damp and hanging over the shower rail I pulled on my jeans, jean jacket and sneakers to head to the resort gift shop. Going commando may be exciting for the young and firm... at this stage in my life it is nothing but scary for all who may be involved.
(The outfit did however, go very well with the hair-washed-in-shower-gel-look)
(Just an aside, that paragraph was interupted by another call from Jet Blue... they needed another description of my bag... I read it off the screen)
The resort is tucked away on Mission Bay and surrounded by deep lucious vegetation... isolating it completely from any reasonable retail experience.
Even if I had the money, a Tommy Bahama monkey print sundress would only be a financial equivalent to the Talbots black dress and jacket.I took the list of the other suits, sweaters, blazers, slacks, skirts, shoes and blouses contained in the hunter-green-Eddie-Bauer(you knnow the rest) and found no temporary substitutes.
The cheapest and least touristy t-shirt was $20. It said "San Diego - Lost in Paradise."
Lost , yes.
Paradise, no.

Copyright 2006 Judi Griggs