Tuesday, November 21, 2006


Yes, yes it is. When no one from the airport called me (shocker!) I called back around 4:30pm. After explaining myself, the lady put me on hold, naturally, while she went off and tried to locate my luggage. This gave me a good twenty minutes to describe to Sylvie the latest in the saga now known as Christopher Reveals Himself to be an Infantile Fuckwad, Chapter 22: Now He's Outright Stealing From Me. Good times.

Finally she comes back on the line and says, "Okay, okay! I've got ahold of someone at DCA and she thinks she has it. Green roller, right?" Yes! "Okay, give me some of the contents so we can verify its yours." I told her I had a brand new pair of winter boots with fur on the top, a brand new black winter coat, and, to bring it all home, described a fairly unique medical thing I carry without which I live in more and more pain everyday. She clicks over, then back to me and says, "Hmm, she says she didn't see any of that..." Wtf. She says, "But they found some hotel reservations for a Christopher ..." What? I mean, great! Cause obviously it has to be my bag, but what in the world? So I say, "Oh, that's my worthless excuse for a roommate. Okay, in the zippered pouch under the lid there's a book called About Time." She clicks over, and back, "Yeah! It's there!" She's as excited as me, and she's only been along for 1/20 of this journey, but that's okay, cause I needed someone to cheer with, and in her job she probably understood that.

She asked if I wanted it delivered to my home or office, saying it would take a couple of hours...I hesitated, because 7 is about when I leave work, and then she lowers her voice and says, "Well, let's be honest, it'll be more like 10." And I think, well if it's more like 10, why not midnight, or 2pm. And frankly, I don't even want to think about putting my bag through another set of hands. Fuck it, I'm going to the airport to get it myself. Thank god I flew into National.

So I immediately leave work, since I'm too distracted to get anything done, and hop on the yellow line. When I get off at the airport I go down to the lower level and can see the office at the end of about a hundred yard long hallway, past all the baggage carousels. I can't help it. I start to run. Victory is within grasp! A man twenty feet outside the office tries to slow me down, "Can I help you?" "I'M JUST GETTING MY BAG!" and blow by him. I see it! It's right there! Like an old friend, it jumps into my arms and I squeeze it tight like it will fly away.

Hilariously, I say, "This is my bag" to the people in the office, they nod and I walk right out with it. So you know, if you need some spare luggage or just feel like starting a life of crime with some petty thievery (hey, Christopher, I found you a new job! Not that you're grateful about the last two I got you) this is apparently a good place to start. Before I left I opened it up, concerned that she didn't find the initial belongings I'd mentioned, but they were all there, she was just blind I guess. Also, the two paper tags I'd put on the bag where torn off, along with a zipper pulley. This is why you put leather tags on your bag. Also, why you don't trust your possessions to an unfeeling corporation ill-equipped to find and unconcerned about your meager belongings.

(Btw, I realized after I saw the papers that my roommate's reservations were in there because he often borrowed my suitcase for his work trips. One of the many, many ways I was considerate to him without it ever being returned. Am I sounding bitter yet? Wait until someone you thought was a good friend decides to finally show his true colors and you realize in retrospect that this whole time you were just making excuses for his poor behavior. I've done this one too many times this year, so I've had it. Time to get rid of the worthless chaff in my pool of friends. And I will choose this one time to be petty, and laugh as he sits in his new shitty neighborhood where there's no ... anything, no bars, no shops, no restaurants, no gay people, with his ass on the couch in front of the Tivo every single night for eternity, since he only saw people because I brought them over or invited him out, except when his ex-boyfriend with whom he shares a disturbing co-dependent relationship deigns to come down from new york for a weekend, all the while paying ridiculously high rent since no one will live with him and that vicious mongrel of a dog, including his boyfriend, who prefers to freeload. Yeah, he can steal the tivo and my furniture, I'll settle for karmic revenge.)

Anyway, I was going to do a fashion show with my new stuff, but I can't seem to get my computer to recognize my new camera. Probably a simple reboot will do it, so I'll update later.


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