Mi casa es suitcasa...

It was all going so well.

I thought that the vendetta of aircraft companies against me had ended. But this was not to be. As the plane touched down in Idlewild, I noticed that there was a faint orange odour to my carrion luggage. My bottle of fanta had not been closed properly, spilling its contents over my books and papers. "Good thing that the expensive stuff was in my checked luggage", I thought.

As the carousel creaked its way around, and my checked luggage still did not appear, I became more concerned. After an hour, I was quite irate. My carefully packed (and unpacked in security, and then repacked) backpack was nowhere to be seen. Instead, all I have is a fuzzy copy of a piece of paper detailing the missing item, and a feeling of irritation and helplessness. When I called just now to see if there had been any sightings of a muddy blue backpack anywhere between here and Argentina, I was helpfully told that the "lost and found department" had gone home already, and they wouldn't be back till Monday. Gits.