Hadi from Turkish Airlines finally called me around 12:45 this afternoon, just as I was beginning to tip into panic mode again.
They had my bag. Green-gray, not black. It had somehow appeared on the baggage carousel about ten minutes after we'd frantically run to catch our Delta flight. I have no idea why one piece of baggage would be pushed out of the aircraft a good hour and a half after everything else, and, quite frankly, I don't want to know.
Hadi was ready to ship my bag to Baltimore, but I explained that I was scheduled to leave early tomorrow morning to come back to New York. New Kid, who we are going to stay with this weekend, generously offered to act as guardian of my wandering suitcase, and Hadi said it was no problem to have the delivery service drop the bag off at her office in midtown Manhattan. At 2:30, I got a text from her saying that the delivery service had called to confirm the bag was on its way. Subsequently, I received an email from Hadi saying that the bag had been shipped out, and should be to New Kid before 6pm.
Relief doesn't even begin to describe it. To celebrate the fact that I would not have to purchase an entirely new wardrobe, at least at the moment, I went out and bought a pair of killer glitter stillettoes to wear with the little black dress I have for New Years. ON SALE. FROM MARSHALLS. LIVIN' THA LIFE, BITCHES.
Around 7:30, I received a text from New Kid stating that she was still hanging around at work waiting for my bag, did I have any idea when it might be arriving, and that this hanging around was leading to unproductive behavior such as perusing oil tiki paintings online and should she buy one? I responded "No idea, and yes, of course you should."
A call to JFK's baggage claim delivery person (is there some sort of term for this area of work? Perhaps "Disorganizer?") revealed that there were 16 airlines with bags on board a van that was working its way through New York City, and if my bag hadn't arrived by 9pm to call them.
I felt guilty, as though I'd somehow foisted my bad Turkish Airlines juju off on my innocent, helpful friend. I also didn't want her waiting around at work until 9:30 for my bag, which by now should have its own hashtag.
#lostbaggageglitterati
#the45_kilo_ulcer
#overpackingruinsgirlandendsallofherpersonalrelationships
Pick whichever one you like. They're all up for grabs, I believe.
So I bit the bullet and called the baggage claim delivery person (hereinafter referred to as "The Disorganizer") and explained the situation, asking if the address for the destination of the bag could be changed to New Kid's home address. Realizing that this could be a completely disastrous error, given that they lost the bag between the belly of TK0001 and the baggage carousel. Giving them too many directives didn't seem a wise idea at this point, but I couldn't have New Kid sitting around her office until 9pm.
It's a good thing I chose this course of action, because when New Kid called the dispatcher to confirm the change of address from one area of Manhattan (mid) to another (lower), they informed her that it should arrive "sometime before midnight."
How many bags, I ask you, are on a van that results in a ten hour tour of New York City?
Nevermind, I don't want to know.
So it's 9:30pm, we are scheduled to leave here at 7am. I am hingeing all my bets and bringing with me only my new shooo-ess, my black New Years dress, and a few pairs of clean underwear and socks. If I err in the wrong and my bag does not make it to New Kid's tonight, and somehow disappears again, I will be spending the weekend in one pair of jeans and inappropriate shoes for daytime.
My internal clock is all whack and thinks it's time to go to bed ("IT'S 4:30AM!" it says), but I am trying to coax it into staying awake until at least ten, so that I can sleep past 3am. So far, the jet lag actually hasn't been too bad. My formula for heading off severe jet lag shall be revealed later. In tableau form. Be excited.
When I get my camera cord, that is. Out of the suitcase that, by now, must smell like a high school locker room with all of my dirty, dusty, sweaty clothes lumped into it for going on four days.
Fingers crossed that thing is circling lower Manhattan as we speak, and that it's safely in New Kid's hands before I arrive tomorrow morning....
UPDATE ON THE UPDATE:
9:42pm - text from New Kid
"I have the suitcase."
You can all breathe now.
They had my bag. Green-gray, not black. It had somehow appeared on the baggage carousel about ten minutes after we'd frantically run to catch our Delta flight. I have no idea why one piece of baggage would be pushed out of the aircraft a good hour and a half after everything else, and, quite frankly, I don't want to know.
Hadi was ready to ship my bag to Baltimore, but I explained that I was scheduled to leave early tomorrow morning to come back to New York. New Kid, who we are going to stay with this weekend, generously offered to act as guardian of my wandering suitcase, and Hadi said it was no problem to have the delivery service drop the bag off at her office in midtown Manhattan. At 2:30, I got a text from her saying that the delivery service had called to confirm the bag was on its way. Subsequently, I received an email from Hadi saying that the bag had been shipped out, and should be to New Kid before 6pm.
Relief doesn't even begin to describe it. To celebrate the fact that I would not have to purchase an entirely new wardrobe, at least at the moment, I went out and bought a pair of killer glitter stillettoes to wear with the little black dress I have for New Years. ON SALE. FROM MARSHALLS. LIVIN' THA LIFE, BITCHES.
Around 7:30, I received a text from New Kid stating that she was still hanging around at work waiting for my bag, did I have any idea when it might be arriving, and that this hanging around was leading to unproductive behavior such as perusing oil tiki paintings online and should she buy one? I responded "No idea, and yes, of course you should."
A call to JFK's baggage claim delivery person (is there some sort of term for this area of work? Perhaps "Disorganizer?") revealed that there were 16 airlines with bags on board a van that was working its way through New York City, and if my bag hadn't arrived by 9pm to call them.
I felt guilty, as though I'd somehow foisted my bad Turkish Airlines juju off on my innocent, helpful friend. I also didn't want her waiting around at work until 9:30 for my bag, which by now should have its own hashtag.
#lostbaggageglitterati
#the45_kilo_ulcer
#overpackingruinsgirlandendsallofherpersonalrelationships
Pick whichever one you like. They're all up for grabs, I believe.
So I bit the bullet and called the baggage claim delivery person (hereinafter referred to as "The Disorganizer") and explained the situation, asking if the address for the destination of the bag could be changed to New Kid's home address. Realizing that this could be a completely disastrous error, given that they lost the bag between the belly of TK0001 and the baggage carousel. Giving them too many directives didn't seem a wise idea at this point, but I couldn't have New Kid sitting around her office until 9pm.
It's a good thing I chose this course of action, because when New Kid called the dispatcher to confirm the change of address from one area of Manhattan (mid) to another (lower), they informed her that it should arrive "sometime before midnight."
How many bags, I ask you, are on a van that results in a ten hour tour of New York City?
Nevermind, I don't want to know.
So it's 9:30pm, we are scheduled to leave here at 7am. I am hingeing all my bets and bringing with me only my new shooo-ess, my black New Years dress, and a few pairs of clean underwear and socks. If I err in the wrong and my bag does not make it to New Kid's tonight, and somehow disappears again, I will be spending the weekend in one pair of jeans and inappropriate shoes for daytime.
My internal clock is all whack and thinks it's time to go to bed ("IT'S 4:30AM!" it says), but I am trying to coax it into staying awake until at least ten, so that I can sleep past 3am. So far, the jet lag actually hasn't been too bad. My formula for heading off severe jet lag shall be revealed later. In tableau form. Be excited.
When I get my camera cord, that is. Out of the suitcase that, by now, must smell like a high school locker room with all of my dirty, dusty, sweaty clothes lumped into it for going on four days.
Fingers crossed that thing is circling lower Manhattan as we speak, and that it's safely in New Kid's hands before I arrive tomorrow morning....
UPDATE ON THE UPDATE:
9:42pm - text from New Kid
"I have the suitcase."
You can all breathe now.
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