One Christmas, returning from a trip to Florida to visit my parents, I ended up sitting on the plane longer than I’d have liked. My legs tend to hurt when I have to sit still for too long and I was really looking forward to having a chance to stand up. After a while, I did manage to get off the plane (clearly), but of course assumed I would then be forced to muscle my way through the roiling throngs at the baggage claim just to catch a glimpse of luggage belonging to strangers. However, I was mildly pleased to see that I was the first prospector to plumb the mines of Samsonite, and would not have to do battle in the Arena of the Carousel. I was still dejected at the idea of waiting still longer to retrieve my luggage and return to my hovel.
A minute or two later later, the alarm sounded, signalling that the sluices were opening, and, lo, first out of the curtains was a bag that looked suspiciously like mine. It couldn’t be, though. Things like that only happen in fairy tales. As it rounded the bend, though, I saw my initials emblazoned across the side, and my uneasy contentment turned to childlike joy as I seized my bag from the very front of the line. Had I not had a witness with me at the time, I scarcely would have believed it myself.
So anyway, that’s why I jump up and headbutt everyone in front of me as soon as the plane lands now.
I had a very similar experience once where the plane door opening and me sitting in the train home with my checked bag were about 15’ apart. Even though I took my time inside the plane, but also it was booked out very poorly.
Also, mother of mercy, what kinds of deals did you have to make to get to be able to spend this kind of flowery vocabulary on internet comments?? I envy your words.
One Christmas, returning from a trip to Florida to visit my parents, I ended up sitting on the plane longer than I’d have liked. My legs tend to hurt when I have to sit still for too long and I was really looking forward to having a chance to stand up. After a while, I did manage to get off the plane (clearly), but of course assumed I would then be forced to muscle my way through the roiling throngs at the baggage claim just to catch a glimpse of luggage belonging to strangers. However, I was mildly pleased to see that I was the first prospector to plumb the mines of Samsonite, and would not have to do battle in the Arena of the Carousel. I was still dejected at the idea of waiting still longer to retrieve my luggage and return to my hovel.
A minute or two later later, the alarm sounded, signalling that the sluices were opening, and, lo, first out of the curtains was a bag that looked suspiciously like mine. It couldn’t be, though. Things like that only happen in fairy tales. As it rounded the bend, though, I saw my initials emblazoned across the side, and my uneasy contentment turned to childlike joy as I seized my bag from the very front of the line. Had I not had a witness with me at the time, I scarcely would have believed it myself.
So anyway, that’s why I jump up and headbutt everyone in front of me as soon as the plane lands now.
I had a very similar experience once where the plane door opening and me sitting in the train home with my checked bag were about 15’ apart. Even though I took my time inside the plane, but also it was booked out very poorly.
Also, mother of mercy, what kinds of deals did you have to make to get to be able to spend this kind of flowery vocabulary on internet comments?? I envy your words.
I usually just make poop jokes but sometimes I like to throw a curveball in there.