The floral print drew me in. It was subtle but it was there and it was enough for me. I have always wanted matching luggage, and pretty matching luggage was all I could’ve ever dreamed. Buying the lightly floral printed suitcase collection, I felt had no drawbacks, only perks. Fancy floral perks. I left the store confident and pleased with my purchase.
As soon as I got my new cases home, I started stuffing them full of clothes. Summer clothes, winter clothes, and clothes designed for inclement weather. The next day I was bound for England to work for a minimum of three-months. You may well be wondering why I waited until the last minute to make this purchase of such grand cases. The reason, I am afraid, is not important.
When I arrived at the airport, I had visions of myself whisking through departures looking particularly stunning with my snazzy luggage wheeling behind me. My hair would be just so, my makeup flawless, my stride strong and purposeful. All the while on lookers would be dazzled not only by my shear beauty but also by my luggage. How could things go wrong with such perfect suitcases?
I hopped out of my rental car, and quickly unloaded my bags. A Yaris, I didn’t feel would play into my vision of elegance and beauty. I made my way through the parking lot, hair flowing, dawning sunglasses, walking with a strong step with my suitcases at my heels. This WAS all that I had imagined. There was however, just one little, minuet issue. My bags seemed a titch heavier than I felt necessary. I had weighed the flowery bags numerous times at home and felt almost sure they weren’t over weight. I couldn’t understand why I seemed to have a concentration of lactic acid building up in my thighs and streaming towards my biceps.
As I lumbered towards ticketing, the bags grew heavier. Sweat poured from my brow and my once free flowing hair had turned limp and damp. My makeup was streaming into my left eye, leaving me with a nasty twitch. The vision I had created for myself had quickly evaporated. Instead of looking like a suitcase model, I now looked like a performer at a circus sideshow.
Eventually I found myself at ticketing and at the end of a very long line. Normally discouraged by such lengthy lines, I found myself pleased that I had time to wipe the makeup from my cheeks; attempt to re-fluff my hair and to give the bags a quick once over. Just in the off chance something had gone wrong. Pretty bag number one appeared to be in fine running order. Bag number two, however, was not. At some juncture during my five-minute walk from the car to the counter, I had lost a wheel, and the other wheel, though it was still there, was at such a jaunty angle I couldn’t imagine it was much use. Bag number two was clearly a right off and my concern lay with bag number one. Would bag number one pull through?
If I were getting pick up at Gatwick, I wouldn’t be worried about anything. However, I was not getting pick up but instead, once off the plane, having to catch a train, then the tube, then another train and then finally one more train. All this was to occur with presumably no wheels.
Having dealt with the underground and all of its inner workings with perfectly good luggage once before, I knew that attempting it with crippled luggage would be a mistake. As with previous calamities, a new plan would have to be formulated.
Eight-hours after having boarded the plane it was time to be reunited with my floral printed luggage. Luggage that I once loved. I dreaded the sight of my two bags. They had let me down and the floral print was going to taunt me. Look at us, aren’t we pretty? Such pretty bags we are! Aren’t you so pleased you spent money on us?
I got a trolley, hurled the bags on to it, and wheeled my way towards the train. Trolleys of course aren’t allowed on the train platform, which meant my bags were going to have to pull themselves together. I had three working wheels between the two bags, so bag number one was going to piggyback bag number two. I knew this would put undue stress on the wheels of bag number one, but figured I would deal with that problem when the time came. By the time I had made my way down to platform seven, I was down to one wheel, and it only had a few rotations in it before it too would expire.
The whole wheel business was unfathomable. Not only did I have two forty-pound bags with me but also a purse and a carry-on bag. All four of these bags were going to have to come with me on a train, tube, a train and a train. I had eight-hours of travel in front of me. Chopping and changing along the way. I was literally going to have to drag the stupid, smug, floral printed bags around behind me, like a dray horse.
To be continued…
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