Lost and Found
Photo by Linda Pappas
What’s on my mind?
I recently ran into some trouble at San Francisco International Airport, but don’t worry, it had nothing to do with the loaded gun...
Our adventure began when we flew from Bakersfield to Portland, but bad weather forced us to miss our connecting flight out of San Francisco. There we were, stranded with hours to kill, but I didn’t mind. For me, SF has always been a nice place to visit. I remembered my art school days at CCA and the trips we took into the city to get indenticolor for school projects.
Great art filled the airport terminals, like Ocean Voices II by Ursula von Rydingsvard. David and I had just watched a YouTube video about her. I discovered that San Francisco International Airport was basically an art museum! Google it. Everywhere we went, there was something amazing to see.
We stopped at a crowded airport restaurant for an overpriced, yet delicious dinner. After we sat down, the loudspeaker announced, “This is an emergency! Please evacuate the building!” Oddly, no one budged! Our waiter shrugged, “Happens all the time. If you see the manager run, then worry.”
After dinner, Linda and I browsed through expensive stores and souvenir shops. I enjoyed the bookstore, which seemed comprehensive for an airport. I found overpriced Christmas chocolate on clearance to enjoy on my trip, but couldn’t decide on a refrigerator magnet good enough for Ellen.
On my way back to David, who was guarding our suitcases, something strange happened. A man came right up to me and asked if he could buy me a beer! Go figure! I politely declined and thanked him for the offer. “Beer Boy” and his creepy escapades kept us entertained for a good half hour until he finally moved on. We did, too.
We weren’t in a big rush to get to our terminal. We still had plenty of time to enjoy the art and take photos to document our trip. We stopped in front of a big window with airplane lights in the background. It seemed like an artsy backdrop at the time. I put my carry-on suitcase behind the red chair and tossed my backpack to the side, out of camera view. We were having a good time and laughing, happy to provide a little sideshow entertainment for passing travelers.
Eventually, we rejoined the herd until we reached a glowing orange hallway, an interesting photo backdrop. At that point, we were only halfway to our destination. A moving sidewalk at the end of our trek was a welcome relief, but when I got off, fear set in. I realized I wasn’t pulling my carry-on suitcase! Where did it go? Did someone steal it? I scanned the crowded terminal with a sick feeling in my gut, and set off alone to backtrack, knowing my chances of finding my suitcase were next to none. And time was running out.
About a quarter mile later, back at the big window with the red chair, I found my suitcase and a security guard, dressed in black, her giant eBike was parked along the wall. We’ll call her “Helga.” She was a no-nonsense gal, all business, tagging my suitcase for its removal. Sure, I was thrilled to locate my belongings, but a tiny part of me was disappointed I wouldn’t be replenishing my wardrobe in Portland.
When I told Helga the suitcase was mine and apologized for the inconvenience, she launched into a lecture about irresponsible travelers, unattended baggage, and the dangers I could’ve caused. I apologized again and tried to lighten the mood a bit. I explained how I’d gotten caught up taking silly photos, but she didn’t find my story amusing. Passing travelers slowed their rolling suitcases to watch. Then came the interrogation. To prove ownership, I had to describe the contents of my suitcase, particulars like the “Dr. Scholl's” shoes in a “Target” bag and the two “Salonpas” patches tucked in the “zippered pocket,” until Helga was satisfied that it was mine. She'd already looked inside, of course.
My suitcase lived to see another day, but it was hard to shake the humiliation of my stupidity. After power-walking back to the terminal to meet David and Linda at our gate, I learned our flight was delayed once again! Relieved, I plopped down and rested my aching feet on my suitcase, breathed deeply, and thanked the universe.
The incident with the loaded gun happened at the Portland airport on our way home. We were going through TSA at the X-ray machine when operations suddenly came to a halt. Some guy behind us had a loaded gun in his carry-on! Let’s just say he missed his flight...
Compared to Gun Boy, losing my suitcase doesn’t seem that bad!
