no me gusta el aeropuerto

BK4 has had a lot of trouble getting home (or at least, anish and I have). I will let him divulge the durty details of his voyage to NYC, but here are mine.

It didn't seem like I was going to have trouble. My plane landed 45 minutes early in glorious Honolulu, HI. I scampered off to get my bags and was the first lucky passenger at the baggage carousel. BUT! To my dismay, while suitcase after suitcase rolled past and people around me came and went, I remained. Minutes passed

(hours passed, days passed).

Dramatization of my pain:

Maybe it was at another carousel? A glance around me showed nothing but empty conveyor belts, and happy lei-d tourists. Fuck them. Where was my suitcase? Thank god I kept the claim check, I thought to mahself. After waiting twenty minutes in an empty baggage service room, a small, sweet, Airport Worker Angel came to my rescue, leading me by the hand to another, more special room. She would find my bag, right? I produced the claim check, my eyes spilling over with hope. She plugged the six numbers in to her magic computer. Whizz bang bang boom! Technology to save the day! Wrong again. The small Angel was in reality just another Airport Demon bent on My Destruction. My bags were in Philadelphia, she said. I had taken the wrong claim check, she said. I told her of course I hadn't, the trustworthy airport man at check-in had handed it to me with a wink and smile. Was she saying he had been lying to me? How could I have known it was all a CONSPIRACY? WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON?!?!

Many days (or weeks, rather) later, I emerged from the airport, bag-less and despondent.

As of this writing, my bags are floating somewhere out in the Twilight Zone. I have heard word of a prophecy saying I'll get them tonight... but we shall see....

Tragically Yours,

Malia