Skip to content

Delta, would you please return my suitcase?

[update: suitcase arrived at motel at 10 p.m. Slept in my own jammies, Gottseidank, versus that Skymiles teeshirt Delta gave me.]

I am not going to go into blow-by-blow detail about how bad air travel is these days. We’ve all heard it.

But Delta, if you’re listening, would you please return my suitcase? You tell me you have my suitcase, and that it’s a lot closer than it was yesterday when you sent it on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, but you say you might keep it another 12 hours before it is “delivered.” Why is that, Delta? Are you trying on my little shoes or wedging your legs into my little pants? Are you smoothing my favorite sensitive-skin lotions over your face and hands?

Fess up, Delta: are you reading my books?

I’m sorry I checked my suitcase. I promise never to do that again. I will wedge every single thing I need to bring into a weekender (even for an 8-day trip where I need writing materials, as in, books) and if I still cannot fit everything in there I will simply layer clothes on my body, World-War-2-refugee-style, and waddle on the plane hoping the air conditioner doesn’t break. When I am close to my seat I will pretend to try to lift my suitcase over my head and into the bin, and then (as I have done so many times) wait for some well-meaning guy to get a hernia when he rushes in to help me.

But I won’t burden you with anything as annoying as, like, you know, luggage. Dude, you have an airline to run.

Just, please… the suitcase, ok?

Posted on this day, other years: