The curbside baggage guy at Southwest tagged our bags and got us our boarding passes. My husband handed him a $5 bill and asked for $1 back. As soon as he did that, the tide of this so far courteous exchange turned. The guy said no problem and handed $1 back and promptly placed my giant suitcase on the scales. Two pounds over the weight limit. That will be an additional $25, please.
Now another guy gets involved to help my nonplussed husband fork over the $25. I get huffy. I inform anyone who is listening that we are not paying $25 for two pounds over. Surely there must be some wiggle room since both my young son and I are using the same suitcase. No, he informs us. That's why every person is allowed to have two suitcases. I'm starting to get hot now. My son can't carry two suitcases, and I can't carry his two suitcases. We are already lugging a car seat, two suitcases, one carry-on bag, a computer and a five-year-old. No van would stop to pick us up if they saw four suitcases, a car seat and all the minutia dragging behind us. Have mercy.
The guy says I could try repacking the suitcase. Fine. "Give me Ring Ding," I tell Mark - just because he happens to be standing there. I open the giant suitcase and grope along the top searching for George's buckwheat and lavender rabbit. I find him and open Mark's suitcase and put him in. I realize Ring Ding doesn't weigh two pounds and will have to start unloading lots of clothes: adorable little jammies with rabbits in race cars, puppies opening presents, rocket ships blasting off into space, tiny shirts, tiny pants. Everyone in the baggage line stares as I self consiously and hurriedly share our choice of apparel with the entire world.
The baggage guy says I have to move our luggage out of the way. I pick up my 52 pound suitcase from a sitting squat position and toss it to the side. No problem. What's he complaining about? I lug 40 pounds around on a regular basis and I don't even toss or drop it. I carry it on my hip sort of like a backpacker carries a backpack. It's part of the equipment. I go up steps. It goes up steps. I go down steps. It goes down steps. It's called my child.
I finish my organizing, zip everything up and wheel the monster suitcase back to the scales. Without a word he places it on the scales. It weighs 48 pounds. My satisfaction is short lived as I realize this guy really does not like me now and he has the suitcases. Will they be going to Fiji today or perchance they might just sit at San Jose airport a little to the side in the shadows of the baggage basement forever? I don't budge until I see him physically place the suitcases on the converyor belt. He does and adds the car seat as well. "Okay, let's go," I tell George. "It's all in." And off I go to the next gauntlet: security. Oh the airlines and the stories I could tell. But, I will stick with this one.
We arrive in Reno and collect our luggage. Everything is there. My anxiety fades. The world is whole again. The sun is shining. The air is warm. The baggage guy is out of my life. Let's have some fun! We get our rental car and drag all our stuff, like toilet paper dragging from the sole of a shoe, to the car. I put the car seat in the car and ask George to get in it. I try to fasten the restraining straps and can't figure out how to do it. Something isn't right. I look closer and see that one strap of George's car seat has been neatly cut all the way across. I am shocked. I was expecting maybe something like poop in the suitcase but nothing like this.
So, as all parents know, you can't go anywhere without a car seat. We are stuck at the airport. He got me. So, we take the car seat out of the car and head to customer service. They are apologetic, loan us a car seat so we can go to a store to buy a new one, and pay for the new car seat.
I remember fingering the cut strap like somehow I would understand the person who would do something like that. I keep touching the cut strap, its smooth yet tough fabric gliding through my gentle fingers. The clean cut so decisive and violent to me. I feel for the children of the world.
