Oh ye of little faith

When my suitcase went astray between Halifax and Oakland, I had faith that it would reappear–after all,t hat was a three-flight trip, with tight connects at one point and, at the ultiamte baggage claim, the attendant was able to see where the bag was and predict its arrival flight.

With Southwest, the fact that the flight was a 70-minute one with no other stopping points, the bags apparently not scanned, and so forth, I felt dubious about ever seeing it again.  And even more dubious after I read the page I was given at baggage claim, which told me that there was no likelihood of help with as much as toiletries until after my claim was filed and processed, which claim I could not submit until five days of no bag….

The hotel was kind, providing me with a toothbrush and so forth.

And then I went forth to my first affiar of conference, which involved a group meeting at a rrestaurant chosen for its menu and its distance from Disneyland.  there were five of us cabbing together but when we presented ourselves at the cab stand, we were rapidly shuffled away to a back drive and loaded into the Chevy Suburban equivalent of a prom limo.  It was hard to select the strangest among its details:  the black brocade benches circling in a U around the passenger compartment? The poorly inset plasma tv on which a group not the Eagles lip synched “Hotel California“? The stained-glass faux Tiffany panels in the the partition between us and the driver? The fact that the driver had no idea where to find this particular restaurant?

One of our party suggested that we may in fact be kidnap victims.  Having ridden in a wide variety of SoCal cabs, I was relatively sure that we were the victims of the region’s inability to admit to landscape, rather than of criminal desire.

And thus, with my faith restored in the ability to get by systems erected by others, I was rewarded with the return of my bag at 11 pm last night…although I had to ask for it at the hotel desk, as I had failed the final return test:  the message that it was waiting for me had been texted to the room, but texts messages appear on the television, an appliance neither Vi nor I had thought to check for that bit of data.


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