my trip to the DC area this week began with a 4am Bayporter pickup. it would have been 3am, but i had words with the operator (why on earth would i need 2 hours to get through Oakland airport before the sun is even up?). still, 4am hurts.
i get to OAK, scarf down a breakfast burrito and wait at the gate, resting my tired head in my hands. i look up, and count the young children. it occurs to me that there's no way i'm going to sleep on this plane, which means i won't get thesis work done either. weariness is setting in, then inspiration strikes. back up to the counter. yes, i have enough miles. yes, they have first class seats open on both legs. i relax instantly. now if only i'd planned ahead, i would have saved room for the mimosas and fresh-made french toast.
something about first class makes me feel very strange. is it the lovely, free wine served in a real, stemmed glass? or the napkin laid down before my hand-cooked meal is presented? it doesn't make sense, these aren't very luxurious things. it isn't that i stick out, it actually isn't all white business men. there are a couple college-aged girls in sweats and an older couple that could have been a quieter version of George Castanza's parents, among others. but i still find myself thinking, maybe i should have put in my expensive earrings or put on make-up. or showered. maybe it's because i'm thinking of all the souls riding in the back, wishing they had a drink of water. i overcompensate for my guilt by being more deferential than usual. i thank my seat-mate something like 10 times for letting me go to the bathroom.
from Reagan airport i hop on the Metro. when i'm on public transportation and i don't have something to read, i like to occupy myself one of two ways. either i sneakily observe details about other people or i stare off at a point in the distance and try to look like i'm contemplating something deep so that, if anyone else is observing me, they'll wonder what it is i'm thinking about. joke is on them, though, i'm just thinking about how to make then wonder what i'm thinking about. sometimes i get really into it, like i'll lean my head against the pole and stare off, squinting my eyes and pursing my lips, but just a little. really, i doubt anyone is actually paying attention, but i'm amused. i have another game kinda like this i play when i have to wait at the DMV.
i make it to my mom's house, and the social whirlwind begins. in the next 3 1/2 days, i'll drive all over the county and into Maryland to squeeze in quality time with my mom, dad, sister, cousin, college friends + baby, and high school friends (plus helping my sister with a catering gig in Baltimore), and in the gaps i'll try to post to the blog, maintain e-mail correspondences, and keep up with NPR before it swallows my hard drive. oh, and finish my thesis, which i've promised to give my committee in a week.
postscript: i didn't get around to tying in the title when i first posted. while i didn't leave or lose any suitcases, i did spend a good part of this trip thinking about my unattended baggage, perhaps spurred by hearing that message repeated a dozen times while i was waiting to board my flight. heavy on my mind was a new friendship, one that has been steeped in murky waters from the start, and an old friendship, which is simultaneously one of the most meaningful and most painful relationships of my life and has probably affected every relationship i've had since i graduated from high school. i sat at the gate, thinking, perhaps we should have that announcement playing throughout our daily lives, barely audibly, in a sweet, soothing voice. it could be a gentle reminder to sort our shit out.
the other inspiration was an article i read on the plane in The Week titled "The land of lost luggage" (there was an Atlantic Monthly article by the same title from back in 2002). where does lost luggage go? Scottsboro, Alabama, as it turns out. (as the article points out, in the parlance of the industry, it's not "lost", it's "unclaimed", as though the owner decided they didn't want it any longer.) there, United Baggage Center, a family-run monopoly since 1970, buys the bags by the pound and sells off the contents in a department store filled with lost treasures. among others, the article lists Dolce & Gabbana handbags, a 41-carat emerald, ancient Egyptian artifacts, used underwear, the guidance system for an F-17, and MC Hammer's concert backdrop.
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For a minute I was worried that you'd left your baggage unattended while going up to the counter for the upgrade. I did that once, but it was to someone else's bags (hey, if you're going to hand me your purse and ask me to "watch this", don't assume I notice the pile of bags you left behind me, too!).
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