The Case Of The Missing Cases

The first time I ever had luggage troubles was on an Amtrak trip to Baltimore in 1978. When I went for my suitcase, it wasn't there. I said to the baggage guy, "I thought the airlines were the ones who lose luggage." He said, "We get our baggage handlers from the same pool the airlines do: the human race." My suitcase went on a more adventuresome trip than I. It went to Philadelphia, rode the next train southbound, missed Baltimore again, got off in Washington, rode the next train northbound, and had a cab ride to Pasadena, Maryland.

My buddy Michael Buinickas worked for Amtrak in Washington DC. He refused to fly anywhere, so when he and his family came to visit Vero Beach in 1980, he took Amtrak to Orlando and rented a car. I told him not to check any luggage, and reminded him of my suitcase story. He scoffed and assured me there would be no problem. They arrived on Sunday afternoon, and by evening they had tracked his luggage. They split the train in Jacksonville, part of it going to Miami via Tampa, and the rest to Orlando. Their luggage- all of it!- went on the Miami train. They were told not to worry, to go on to Vero Beach, and the Miami station would send the luggage to Vero via Greyhound Package Express. Monday evening Amtrak called. The Vero Beach Greyhound station had been closed when the bus came through, so there was no-one to receive the goods. Not to worry, though, Jacksonville would send it via Greyhound Package Express. Guess what. Tuesday morning Amtrak called. The Vero Beach station had been closed...again, but not to worry...The Buinickases all went to Kmart and bought some clean new clothes. The luggage finally arrived on Wednesday morning.

In 2003 I had a cheap big blue wheeled duffle-style bag that was too big to carry onto my plane to Denver. I was to be there for two weeks to get my brother set up and running in his new wheelchair accessible apartment, so I had a lot of different clothes- for unpacking and assembling, for talking to doctors and such, for staying warm in February in Denver. I also put my keys with my Swiss Army knife in there, because I couldn't take the knife on the plane. So I got to Denver late in the afternoon, got off the plane, and went to Baggage Claim. After a while a big cheap blue wheeled duffle-style bag came around the carousel. It didn't look as full as it had the last time I'd seen it. I grabbed it, and looked at the airline label. It was a big cheap blue wheeled duffle-style bag exactly like mine, but it belonged to somebody else. I put it back, and watched it go round and round a few more times before I went to the Baggage Office. I told them I thought the owner of this bag had grabbed my bag without reading the label. They scoffed and told me my bag would likely show up soon. It didn't. Then they got a call from a ski resort a hundred miles away. Seems a guest there had picked up the wrong bag, and could the airline please deliver the right bag ASAP. I said the dumbass ought to ski his ass back to Denver with my bag and I'd teach him to read labels. But the airline was nicer than I- doesn't take much. They sent a person to the resort, traded bags, and mine was delivered to me the next afternoon, keys and knife intact.