Friday, February 26, 2010

I Love You More Than Mah Luggage- Not

I've been missing from this little space in cyberville for a while. The mountain man was kind enough to take me on a vacation points south of here for a spell. (Actually?
It's part of our pre-nup. It clearly states in section one, Article 3 "I, mountain man, do solemnly swear to take mysuestories on at least one really hot, humid, sweaty vacation per year, preferably during a very cold, snowy period of February, lest I risk the wrath of a woman who has previously buried two former husbands (OK, OK, so I didn't actually bury my exes- does wishful thinking count for anything?)

And since we're being totally honest here ( as honest as I have to be, seeing as how all two of my many readers don't actually know me outside of the Internets)..that above clause? Is our entire pre-nup. Apparently the division of our vast wealth (or lack thereof) is not so much an issue. I mean, our worst fear, should, *gasp* end this union before death do us part -are you paying attention, mountain man?- will be which one of us gets the over extended Master Card versus the less coveted interest compounded daily maxxed out Visa. Ahh, always choices in America. What a great country, no?

Anyway, in living up to our annual marital obligations (no, constant reader, not the one which involves kinky sex and lots of alcohol), mountain man booked us a trip to Costa Rica.

We had a (very f*cking) early flight out of JFK with a forty five minute layover in Miami, because apparently no where in our pre-nup does it say "All flights must be direct and in first class". (Pay attention, brides-to-be. Learn from my misfortune!)

Well, our departure from JFK was delayed precisely forty minutes, which in travel-language translates to "You, dear traveler, are about to be screwed". We landed in Miami, and we (along with eight other thrilled fellow travelers) proceeded to run (yes, faithful reader, run) through the airport through seventeen gates to catch our connecting flight to San Jose with seconds to spare. Did I mention I was wearing five inch heels and a silk pant suit, 'cause I like to pretend I'm a seasoned world traveler who just happens to be sitting in coach, because "that damned assistant of mine simply must have made a mistake with the reservations"? Yeah, I was the epitome of classy, with my pumps in my hands, my sweaty hair matted to the side of my face, and me wheezing like a lung cancer patient in the throes of death.

But we made our flight ( when did they start seating first class in the back of the aircraft?), and after many a few cocktails, we were back to vacation mode. It occurred to us (OK, so it was the mountain man who had this thought...I can't do everything, you know), anyway, it occurred to us that if we barely made it on this plane, chances were that our luggage didn't. Although our luggage does have wheels, and it doesn't have a wheeze courtesy of twenty years of loyal patronage to the makers of Marlboro Lights. At least I don't think it does. (Ironically? My rolling duffel? Courtesy of Marlboro miles, circa 1994.)

We debarked (like a bad dog whose vocal cords have been snipped? Weird word, no?) in San Jose, and our spirits were lifted when lo and behold, there on the baggage carousel, appeared my beloved flip flop carrying luggage!!!!!!! Yea, for me! Yea for flip flops!

Ah, but bliss is short lived for the Traveling Woeburys that is mysuestories and the mountain man. It quickly became clear that while mysuestories luggage was fit enough to make our connecting flight, mountain man's luggage must be a closet smoker, for it was nowhere to be seen on the luggage carousel. There is truly nothing sadder than a revolving luggage carousel carrying nothing but a stray floral print satchel. And as tempted as we were, it was highly doubtful that the owner of such a delicate piece had packed men's XXL swim trunks.

We headed to the lost luggage department (now there's a happy career choice, huh?)where we were assured that mountain man's luggage would hop on the next flight to San Jose and be taxied right over to our resort four and a half hours away by car.

"Cheer up, mountain man, " I cajoled. "All is not lost. It's just a little luggage mishap. Happens all the time. I'm sure your luggage will be along quickly." Hey, I am nothing, if not supportive, and, geez, at least I had my stuff.

We made our way through the San Jose airport and walked around the block to a small private airport, (?) where we would board another plane to sprint us to our final destination. Now, I love flying. I like the too tight seats, the little fold up tables, the cocktails, the cheesy movies, the expensive peanuts and chips. Oh, and did I mention the cocktails? So, when the mountain man told me there would be a thirty minute flight from San Jose to our resort, I was thrilled. When he told me (at the landing strip, no less), that the craft that would be flying us at thirty thousand feet held only eleven passengers, I was less than thrilled. I don't like roller coasters, or high elevators, or catapulting in thin air in anything less than a 747. But hey, I'm no party pooper. We grabbed our my luggage and headed through South American security (which? In its' entirety entails a man asking me in broken English if I was carrying anything illegal in my bag, and tempted as I was to say, "why, yes, I have an entire family of Americans trying to flee the country your compatriots have taken over", I showed full restraint and said simply, "No. All our contraband was in the baggage that the airline lost."
'Cause when I have my luggage? I'm cocky like that.

So, this high tech airline in a dirt field weighed each passenger, and our carry on bags, and our luggage. We were then directed to a awaiting area (twelve chairs in the searing sun), while they readied the plane for take off.

As there was only one empty seat amongst our melanoma section seating, I intelligently ascertained that the plane/wind up tin can would be full. I even snickered not so quietly, when airline personnel approached a family of six that was amongst our fellow travelers, and informed them that due to the combined weight of passengers and cargo, this family would have to leave one of their bags behind until the morning flight. I snickered when the alpha male of the group stomped his feet and refused. I even chuckled when two security men approached alpha male and said he most certainly would be choosing a bag to leave behind, or they would leave it all behind.

Mountain man, still feeling the loss of his own precious cargo, did not share my humor.

I joked about the matching pouts mountain man and alpha man were wearing as airline workers unloaded the man's baggage (yes, he did choose one. I'm pretty sure it was his wife's, and I don't think she was aware of this.)

I continued laughing over the laments of luggage-less people. (Yeh, well, riding coach can do that to a person, you know).

I was still laughing fifteen minutes later when airline personnel approached the mountain man and explained that we, too, had to sacrifice a bag.

Mountain man was more than happy to point out my Marlboro bag. They unloaded it out of the cargo hold and placed it next to alpha man's luggage.

I stopped chuckling.

Mountain man started laughing.

The cad. Has he no compassion at all?

1 comment:

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