It's time for #TheMondayClub.
I'm treating you...maybe...you might think I'm torturing you, to a free read on Mondays.
Today is the start of...
The Case of the The Missing Knickers
To set the scene
The essential question…
One anyone who has suffered the indignity of standing by the baggage belt, and watching everyone else grabbing their cases and leaving poses. You know what I mean. For however long it took for the wheep-wheep noise as the bell rang, the red light flashed, and the belt moved and slowly regurgitated cases, bags, buggies and golf clubs into the building. Often with handles ripped off, labels shouting to the world the fact your luggage is heavy, because you just had to put in the travel iron, three extra pairs of shorts and two bottles of gin.
And you wait…and wait…until the only other person around as a not so hopeful-of-a-job porter, and the only thing on the conveyor belt a box dated three days early stating perishable. Now you know what the weird smell is.
And as you come to terms with the case or lack of a case of the missing luggage (think great literary detectives with a magnifying glass here, looking for clues) you ask yourself…
Is That Airline pants?
Now you might read that sentence and roll your eyes. Perhaps wonder what on earth it means. An Airline, pants? However if you're from the UK side of the pond, you know it's slang. Pants means, rubbish, crap, terrible, awful…you get the gist? (A friend of mine was studying Japanese at university. On leaving a lecture one of the guys said, "Well, that was pants." The poor gentle Japanese lecturer then said to my friend, "Sadie-san, what is pants?" Try explaining that and making sure you don't hurt someone's feelings.)
Also, as I don't want a certain airline to get their knickers in a twist, (UK Slang again, can you guess where I live?) I'll just call them That Airline. However to return to my original question…are they pants?
Well considering their record for loosing luggage, they must be. Drowning in them; suffocating in pants, thongs, boxers, and Y-fronts. Committing bloomers, to say nothing of other stuff. (There used to be a TV programme over here called Aunties Bloomers. The station was affectionately called Auntie, and bloomers were all their gaffes.)
But it's my knickers in this case. Case in both sense of the words—instance and suitcase.
Nice posh lacy ones. And thongs, if that's too much information, close your eyes and skip this bit; designers ones, that I lusted over, got, and take care off. These are the sort you wince when you see the price, but just once in a lifetime, buy…or are given them as a present —that sort.
Okay, it's fine now. The discussion with regards to my underwear is finished for the moment.
Right, missing luggage. My dear husband—frequently known in this as Dh—and I have not been too unlucky in the past; not if you don't count a trip to Antigua with That Airline, oh four or five years ago. Long story related short, we got there—the cases didn't. However they said they'd come in later that night, and they'd bring them to our hotel. We had no idea how they were going to manage that as the island we were visiting was a one plane a day place, but hey, we wanted to see them try. That time I'd packed a change of clothes for both of us in a carry on case. I had visions of no luggage and no clothes suitable for the restaurant, if our checked luggage didn't arrive with us.
Believe me, that scenario would have been catastrophic, as it was definitely a dress for the occasion place. Sure, not a true calamity in the grand scheme of life, but in the “we've saved up for ages to stop at this hotel and the restaurant has a great reputation” sense—well it was more than a scream and throw my hands in the air and look desperately for the gin moment.
Dh said it was prophetic, or some such thing —he muttered something like That Airline is pants under his breath, with a few added epithets to enhance his opinion.
But at least we got changed and had a fantastic meal. And due to my foresight we had swimwear and a change of clothes to help out. (And the bathroom facilities were good enough for hand washing the one spare pair of knickers.)
Every day someone rang and told us our luggage would be with us the next day. We got it on day four, but they still faithfully called us every day, to inform us we'd get the luggage 'tomorrow'.
Tomorrow never comes does it? I had visions of whoever was occupying suite *** at the rather lovely luxury hotel we stayed in, getting a call every day and to their bemusement, told their luggage will arrive tomorrow.
Apart from that, we've done not too badly, especially when you consider how often we travel either as a couple or Dh for work. But just to be on the safe side, when we go away, I now have a basic change in my carryon luggage —bikini, undies, and flip-flops. You know…essentials. The important words are…when we go away…
What do you reckon...?
Part One—The Brief Facts
Love R x