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Ron Jackson's Perspective
The Sunday Journal -
Think
Kankakee, Illinois
August 3, 2003
Air travel just not
my bag |
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On a recent trip, in a hurry
to get to the airport and wait the suggested two hours before my
scheduled departure, I forgot to check that day's Homeland Security
Terror Alert. Most days the warnings are elevated or overrated
anyway.
As soon as I arrived at the check-in counter, I
remembered what I feared most about the whole commercial flying
process. My fears were founded long before 9-11. I don't
fear terrorists, and as long as there is a good representative
sample of American citizens on board with me, I don't fear crashing.
My biggest fear used to be having to suffer through
three or more hours flying with a child in the row behind me kicking
my seat the whole flight, or a child in the seat and row in front of
me who stands up, turns around and makes goo-goo talk the whole
flight. I have learned to ask for a different seat. My
greatest fear is giving up control and visibility of my luggage.
On two separate flying occasions, I have had my luggage not arrive
when I did. I try very hard to pack as small a bag as possible
to meet the new stringent carry-on guidelines. Sometimes I
fail.
The words, "I'm sorry sir. You're going to have
to check this bag," leave me shaking. I want to fall to the
floor on my back with my feet in the air screaming, "No, no, no,
it's mine, it's mine, it's mine." Somehow I never actually do
that.
Watching my bags go through the new federal luggage
checkpoint just prolongs my agony. The white shirted TSA
worker grabs my bag right in front of me and throws it upon the
conveyor as if it's a bale of hay without ever considering my
insecurities. It's like watching someone slap your mother.
While staring at my bags and praying that I will see them again, I
am suddenly returned to reality by, "Sir, please go to your gate
now."
There is never any sympathy from those baggage folks.
A little, "Don't worry, we'll take good care of your bags," would
sure go a long way to make my trip less stressful. But they
don't care. They know they have as good a chance of seeing me
again as I have of ever seeing my bags again.
Although the latest studies found that airlines
annually lose less than one percent of checked luggage (that's about
400,000 pieces lost), that is not reassuring to an unlucky person
like me. In this case, a 99 percent success rate is still
failing.
If you have ever wondered where some lost luggage winds
up, try the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains in northern
Alabama. I thought that area was just the home of snake
worshippers.
There is a one of a kind store called the Unclaimed
Baggage Center that sells items from lost luggage bought from the
airlines. This store has an exclusive long-term contract with
commercial and business airlines. I wonder if my favorite
shirt from the Honolulu Transit Bus Company, that was lost during a
flight from Tulsa, Oklahoma to San Francisco, ended up in
Scottsboro, Alabama.
Our intelligence bureaus should pass on to our defense
department gurus that those lost and unclaimed Iraqi WMDs just may
have found their way to northern Alabama. For those
interested, the store is open six days a week and attracts more than
one million tourists per year, thus reducing the chance you will
find that precious locket your grandma gave you. Here is the
address: Unclaimed Baggage Center, 509 West Willow Street,
Scottsboro, Ala., 35768. |
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