| General Fiction posted July 26, 2024 |
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mixing it up
Not My Bag
by gansach
The Switch Contest Winner
I shift my carry-on bag strap on my shoulder as I glance about the airport waiting area, subtly trying to see if my attire is drawing any attention. No one seems to care I am wearing lounge pajama bottoms and flip flops, thank goodness.
My alarm didn't go off this morning, even though I checked it countless times. I don't know what happened. But I knew, as soon as I opened my eyes, something wasn't right. Too bright!
My flight is at 9:47 AM. I wanted to leave at 7:30 to be sure I had plenty of time to get to the airport and through check-in. So the alarm should have gone off at 6:30.
Instead, I woke at nearly 8:00.
Heart pounding, I leapt from my bed. Thank goodness I packed my carry-on last night and only needed to throw my last minute items into it. No time to dress or put on make-up. I gathered my hair into a messy knot on top of my head, swished some Scope around my mouth and spit, splashed my face with water. I pulled on an old hoodie, slid into my flip flops, threw my wallet into the bag, and zipped it.
Grabbing my keys, I flew out the front door of my flat, scrambled into my little VW Bug, tossed my bag onto the passenger seat, and roared off, praying traffic would be light.
I made it, just barely. I look like I'm homeless, but I'm here. No one would guess or believe that I'm on my way to New York to the Pulitzer dinner to accept the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.
I can hardly believe it myself.
Oh! There's my flight call. Time to board. I grab my carry-on and join the queue.
There's a pretty raucous group of guys behind me. They're all laughing and talking in some other language; it sounds kind of Slavic. They're all young, athletic looking, and one of them is a little person. I hope they're not sitting near me, they're kind of annoying.
I finally shuffle my way onto the plane and find my seat. And, of course, those noisy foreign guys are right next to me. I sure hope they settle down during the flight.
I start to put my phone and wallet in my pocket, then remember I don't have any. My lounge pajamas are pocketless and my hoodie is pouchless. I can't sit and hold them the entire flight, and I'm afraid I'll forget them if I put them in the seat pocket. I'll just have to zip them in my carry-on.
Once I do that, I reach up to place my carry-on in the overhead compartment. One of the Slavic guys is doing the same and we collide.
"Scuze." He smiles.
"Sorry," I say.
He shoves his bag in, then puts his hand out.
"Eu ajut?" he asks, pointing at my bag.
"Oh, uh . . . sure." I shrug and he takes it and pushes it in next to his.
"Thanks," I say, taking my seat.
"Cu placere," he replies.
I plug in my headphones and prepare for take off. I'm nervous~not about flying~but about the Pulitzer dinner. I just want to relax on this flight and go over my acceptance speech in my head.
New York, here I come!
We touch down at JFK and a driver is waiting to take me to Columbia University where the dinner is to be held. I didn't bother with a hotel room as I'm flying right back after the dinner. I have a big meeting with my editor in the morning.
The Pulitzer recipients have the use of a couple rooms in a residence hall so I plan to shower and dress there, attend the dinner, then head back to the airport for my redeye flight back.
My driver delivers me to the university and I find my way to the residence hall. The room is currently unoccupied so I drop my carry-on to the tabletop and unzip it to retrieve my new "uncrushable" power suit to hang it up.
Wait! What is this? These aren't my things!
This is my bag, or . . . it looks like mine . . . oh no!
I remember thinking, when that Slavic guy put my bag up for me, his bag looked quite similar to mine. Could he have . . . did I grab his?
Oh, this can't be! He has my bag, my wallet, my phone . . . my power suit! This is the most important dinner of my life. What am I going to do?
I use the residence phone to call the airline and explain what happened. The airline assistant checks the passenger list to find the names of the guys in the group who traveled with me.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. That was a group of performers from Romania and they've already boarded a flight to Europe."
"What!" I cry. "They have all my money, my ID, my phone. What will I do?"
"I can transfer you to my supervisor so you can make out a report," she offers. "They can radio the flight and try to recover your bag on landing so it can be returned."
"Thanks, I will do that," I say~but that doesn't help me now, I continue to myself.
Once I've filed the report, I hang up and have a good cry. How can this be happening?
Maybe, I think, just maybe the bag I have will have something I could use? A shirt, a pair of trousers?
Let's cross our fingers and check . . . I sigh. The bag contains an outfit all right.
My traveling companion is obviously a Romanian circus performer and I can either accept my Pulitzer wearing my pajamas and hoodie or . . . a clown costume.
I shift my carry-on bag strap on my shoulder as I glance about the airport waiting area, subtly trying to see if my attire is drawing any attention. No one seems to care I am wearing lounge pajama bottoms and flip flops, thank goodness.
My alarm didn't go off this morning, even though I checked it countless times. I don't know what happened. But I knew, as soon as I opened my eyes, something wasn't right. Too bright!
My flight is at 9:47 AM. I wanted to leave at 7:30 to be sure I had plenty of time to get to the airport and through check-in. So the alarm should have gone off at 6:30.
Instead, I woke at nearly 8:00.
Heart pounding, I leapt from my bed. Thank goodness I packed my carry-on last night and only needed to throw my last minute items into it. No time to dress or put on make-up. I gathered my hair into a messy knot on top of my head, swished some Scope around my mouth and spit, splashed my face with water. I pulled on an old hoodie, slid into my flip flops, threw my wallet into the bag, and zipped it.
Grabbing my keys, I flew out the front door of my flat, scrambled into my little VW Bug, tossed my bag onto the passenger seat, and roared off, praying traffic would be light.
I made it, just barely. I look like I'm homeless, but I'm here. No one would guess or believe that I'm on my way to New York to the Pulitzer dinner to accept the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.
I can hardly believe it myself.
Oh! There's my flight call. Time to board. I grab my carry-on and join the queue.
There's a pretty raucous group of guys behind me. They're all laughing and talking in some other language; it sounds kind of Slavic. They're all young, athletic looking, and one of them is a little person. I hope they're not sitting near me, they're kind of annoying.
I finally shuffle my way onto the plane and find my seat. And, of course, those noisy foreign guys are right next to me. I sure hope they settle down during the flight.
I start to put my phone and wallet in my pocket, then remember I don't have any. My lounge pajamas are pocketless and my hoodie is pouchless. I can't sit and hold them the entire flight, and I'm afraid I'll forget them if I put them in the seat pocket. I'll just have to zip them in my carry-on.
Once I do that, I reach up to place my carry-on in the overhead compartment. One of the Slavic guys is doing the same and we collide.
"Scuze." He smiles.
"Sorry," I say.
He shoves his bag in, then puts his hand out.
"Eu ajut?" he asks, pointing at my bag.
"Oh, uh . . . sure." I shrug and he takes it and pushes it in next to his.
"Thanks," I say, taking my seat.
"Cu placere," he replies.
I plug in my headphones and prepare for take off. I'm nervous~not about flying~but about the Pulitzer dinner. I just want to relax on this flight and go over my acceptance speech in my head.
New York, here I come!
We touch down at JFK and a driver is waiting to take me to Columbia University where the dinner is to be held. I didn't bother with a hotel room as I'm flying right back after the dinner. I have a big meeting with my editor in the morning.
The Pulitzer recipients have the use of a couple rooms in a residence hall so I plan to shower and dress there, attend the dinner, then head back to the airport for my redeye flight back.
My driver delivers me to the university and I find my way to the residence hall. The room is currently unoccupied so I drop my carry-on to the tabletop and unzip it to retrieve my new "uncrushable" power suit to hang it up.
Wait! What is this? These aren't my things!
This is my bag, or . . . it looks like mine . . . oh no!
I remember thinking, when that Slavic guy put my bag up for me, his bag looked quite similar to mine. Could he have . . . did I grab his?
Oh, this can't be! He has my bag, my wallet, my phone . . . my power suit! This is the most important dinner of my life. What am I going to do?
I use the residence phone to call the airline and explain what happened. The airline assistant checks the passenger list to find the names of the guys in the group who traveled with me.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. That was a group of performers from Romania and they've already boarded a flight to Europe."
"What!" I cry. "They have all my money, my ID, my phone. What will I do?"
"I can transfer you to my supervisor so you can make out a report," she offers. "They can radio the flight and try to recover your bag on landing so it can be returned."
"Thanks, I will do that," I say~but that doesn't help me now, I continue to myself.
Once I've filed the report, I hang up and have a good cry. How can this be happening?
Maybe, I think, just maybe the bag I have will have something I could use? A shirt, a pair of trousers?
Let's cross our fingers and check . . . I sigh. The bag contains an outfit all right.
My traveling companion is obviously a Romanian circus performer and I can either accept my Pulitzer wearing my pajamas and hoodie or . . . a clown costume.
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Writing Prompt Two passengers mistakenly switch suitcases at the airport. Write a story about what happens after. Comedy, horror, romance, mystery, etc....your choice. 1000 words max. |
The Switch Contest Winner |
Fortunately, this is not a true experience.
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