On a Carousel
It was almost midnight. I had waited for my bag until the last bag was retrieved by another traveler. I am always hoping my bag will be the first off the plane, or at least one of the first. However, the longer I waited, I just hoped I would get my bag.
When the low hum of the stainless steel conveyor stopped, with nothing else in sight, I knew I was not getting any luggage, at least tonight.
Did someone steal it? Maybe it somehow missed my flight, even though I checked in the required one hour ahead of departure. It wasn’t one of those ridiculously expensive Gucci or Louis Vuitton cases. My God, those things cost a small fortune. I started inventorying what I didn’t have or would need.
I had a tooth brush in my brief case, but that was about it. Just as I resigned myself to the situation, I turned to see a small Hispanic woman walking towards me. She was wheeling what looked like my nondescript off brand red cloth suitcase behind her.
She half smiled as she apologized, explaining that she had mistakenly taken my bag. She kindly handed it over, as I said, thank you. When I looked back, she just stood there, and I wondered if she at least had her toothbrush.