I wrote this on the airplane right after it happened.  I just didn’t know when to post it and decided sooner was better than later!

Every time I travel it is like a blueprint for Murphy’s Law.  In fact, I’m petitioning to get it renamed to Brett’s Law.  More than likely, however, I would get the necessary 50,000 signatures only to realize I made a typo and I have just successfully petitioned to have it renamed to “Bert’s Law.”

My latest ill fated traveling experience took place in an airport.  After being dropped off at terminal B by the cab driver I dragged my 3 suitcases and 2 bags all the way up to the ticket counters.  I had all this luggage because I had a bunch of equipment with me.  The only way to handle three suitcases is to put two of them back to back and drag them with one hand and pull another with the other while the other two bags criss cross on your neck and choke the life out of you. As I struggled with my bags and limited blood flow to the brain, I realized I didn’t see US Airways anywhere.  I reluctantly asked someone for help and they said, as if trying to hold back laughing in my face, “You’re in the wrong terminal.  This is Terminal B.  You’ll have to go back outside and take the silver shuttle to Terminal D.”  So the cab driver had dropped me off at the wrong terminal… the irony here is that HE was talking about Murphy’s Law while driving me to the airport.

Annoyed, I tried to turn around to head back out (not an easy task with three 50 lb suitcases and 2 bags full of equipment, computers, and a projector) and made my way to the shuttles.  I sat on the bench where he said the shuttle would come.  After a ten minute wait, I saw the shuttle approaching.  I stood up to signal that I wanted to get on and watched the shuttle blow right passed me as if I were one of those annoying mall kiosk workers trying to sell knockoff sunglasses.  He went down a good 100 yards to another bench where 2 people were sitting.  I was running behind schedule and now literally running behind a shuttle bus hoping that he would see me and not drive away.  Running with all these bags was no easy task because every 15 feet or so one of them would hit the back of my heel and trip me up.  I fully expected to face plant on the sidewalk at some point.  Luckily he waited.  I caught up, stowed my bags, and nodded with an apologetic smile to all the people on the bus who were now looking at me like I was a total moron because they just had to wait a whopping 30 seconds.

I was trying to hurry through the airport but based on the speed people move, I’m pretty sure the zombie apocalypse is already here.  People just seem to shuffle their feet as they walk in a group 4 wide and block the entire path around them.  I finally got to the ticket counter and awkwardly tried to maneuver my way through the zombie travelers to the next available self serve, check in kiosk (I fail to see how these makes things more time efficient… half the people need the ticket clerks to walk them through every step of the check in, anyway.)  Once I got my tickets, I placed my first bag on the scale – 60 lbs… 10 lbs over the limit.  Wonderful.  Next bag – 40 lbs.  They said I could try and distribute the weight between the two so I once again made my way through the crowd.  I flipped open my suitcases and spent 5 minutes trying to move things around but all I seemed to be accomplishing was showing off a variety of my dirty boxers to the people standing in line.  Luckily I left my leopard print thongs at home, haha.  Eventually I gave up and just decided to pay the heavy bag fee.  Unfortunately, for a bag that is 10 lbs too heavy, they charge $90 dollars extra!  I just told them that was fine because I was tired of dealing with it.  This is why I prefer to just drive everywhere.  It takes longer, but it is usually cheaper, less of a pain in the ass, and I can be in control instead of counting on a bunch of random, incompetent strangers (like the cab driver who dropped me off at the wrong place, the shuttle driver who blew right past me, and the flight attendants who act like you being on the plane is an inconvenience to them.)

From there, I headed through security.  I have a myriad of electronics and I’ve learned that if you run a projector through in your checked bag, they will flag it every time.  This time I went ahead and took it out and put it in a separate tray with my flashes and I separated out my laptop as well.  The only part of airport security I do enjoy, is watching newbies go through the full body scan machine because they look extremely confused as to what these machines even are and why they have to do the “A” pose from YMCA.  I go up, do my thing, and then exit the machine.  Security stops me briefly and I look over at my stuff.  Someone is holding their bag in place on the conveyor which is causing all the bags to back up. The trays to start raising up on their sides as the person running the x-ray machine pushes more and more bags through.  I see the bin my Macbook is in start to tip and my computer starts to slide out, as if in slow motion.  Someone yells as I try to weave through the security and sharply cut back to my computer.  The floor is a slick concrete and I attempt to dive for my computer.  I slip and fall flat on my face… hard.  Luckily the woman standing nearest to my computer grabs it just in the nick of time.  I stand up and everyone is really concerned that I am injured.  A TSA agent asks if I am ok and I said that I would much rather I take a spill than my computer and that I’m fine.  Laughing to myself at the situation, I say pretty loudly “I tried to dive for it but I couldn’t get traction because I have no shoes on!”  Everyone cracks up.  This one agent is laughing hysterically in my face and trying to apologize that she is laughing because it isn’t funny.  I said it was fine and that it was the highlight of my day so far.

I dust myself off, get all my crap together, and head to my gate.  Somehow my gate is always the furthest one.  I trudge along for what seems like a mile through the massive Phoenix airport and finally stop to get a quick bite to eat.  I get a soda and when I go to put the straw to my lips, the cup implodes, the lid falls off, and Dr. Pepper spills all over my crotch.  Awesome.  Now I get to walk around looking like I pissed my pants… all the cool kids are doing it, right?

As we get on the plane, they make me check my carry on bag because it is too big.  I explain to them I have thousands of dollars worth of gear in this bag and that I would really prefer not to check it.  I ask if I can see if it fits and if not, I’ll gladly check it.  They begrudgingly oblige and I get on the plane.  Of course, the bag doesn’t fit by about an inch and now I have to awkwardly go against the flow of people getting on the plane and try to get it up front.  The flight attendants are rightfully annoyed.  I tell them I’ll have to check it and ask if they have any tags that say “fragile” that I could put on it.  They don’t.

Before I got on the plane, they called me up to the counter and moved me to the emergency exit row and put me in the middle seat.  Now I can neither recline nor move my limbs.  I’m a fairly broad guy and I physically can’t sit in the middle seat without taking over the armrests.  The plane mostly fills up and I’m still alone in the row.  Of course, right before they close the doors, two big fat guys start making their way back and they are looking directly at me.  You know those fat twins that ride small motorcycles in the Guinness Book of World Records?  Ya, that’s what these guys looked like.  So they ended up sitting right next to me and one of them reeked of BO.  So I got to sit with this guy’s nasty armpit a foot from my face for a couple hours.  I wanted to take out my gum and stick it under my nose like a Hitler stash air freshener.

We finally land and I can’t wait to get off the plane.  We are stuck there for awhile as I watch them send the suitcases up a steep conveyor belt.  I see my bag going up (you know, the one with all the breakable valuables?) and it is wobbling back and forth.  There is about 20 feet between it and the bag behind it… I know it is going to happen and I can’t do anything.  I watch helplessly as my bag gets nearly to the top of the conveyor and then starts tumbling back down.  It picks up speed, hits another suitcase, and is on the teetering brink of falling 12 feet to the ground.  The song “United Breaks Guitars” is playing in my head.  Finally they stop the conveyor and throw my suitcase back on the belt.  That was close.

I’ve landed safely.  Now all I have to do is drag all these damn suitcases outside and get a taxi.  Hopefully they drop me off at the right place.

If you know me (and especially if you have ever travelled with me) you know that this story isn’t really all that uncommon.  I figured I would just share one of my experiences with you guys in entirety.  I hope you got a few laughs out of my misery.  I’m always annoyed when these things are happening, but can laugh them off afterwards.  I’m pretty used to it at this point!