Baggage Claim

It wasn’t always like this.

Jack used to have a “regular job.” The type of thing where he would stare at monitors for hours a day. He got bored real quick.

See, Jack was smart.

He got a 760 on his SAT’s – that’s how smart he was.

So he quit.

And went to work at the airport. That’s where this story starts: an airport.

It ends in an airport too.

* * * * * * * *

Turning into the parking garage on a crisp September morning, Jack almost immediately found a spot. It was right next to the door: the pole position for a good day’s work. He smiled to himself, happy to have his day start off well. He silently touched his left inside jacket pocket with his right hand.

He slid the garage ticket into the thin, elastic strip surrounding the visor above his head. He noticed it was slightly askew, and then fixed it. He smiled again.

“Going gray,” he said to himself as he checked out his profile in the mirror. He liked the crow’s feet just being to form around his eyes. He reminded himself that they were signs of mirth, of good cheer. He liked that about himself – always a smile, always a happy face.

Happy faces weren’t noticed as much.

Jack smoothed his straight hair down into the part he wore on the left side of his head. “Definitely going gray,” he said again. Jack hoped she liked gray hair. He’d heard it was distinguished.

Easing his tall legs out of the car, Jack stood and stretched. It’s a long drive to the airport, but he managed to get there in just under an hour – traffic was light so soon after Labor Day. Thin and lanky, Jack wasn’t the type of person to stand out in a crowd. He liked to wear slightly faded jeans and a polo shirt, tucked into his belted pants. The only part of his outfit noticeable was the slight bandage around his hand – but he’d had that for ten years and didn’t seem to notice himself anymore. Didn’t need to dress up too much for this job, which he liked. He thought about it for a second: “I don’t even own a tie,” he thought. Then he stopped…

Yeah he did. He had lots of them.

Shaking his head and smiling to himself, Jack started to walk towards the terminal. “How could I have forgotten?” he laughed silently to himself. “I’m always forgetting stuff like that.”

Jack walked into the chilly, clarified air of Midway International Airport. He liked Midway more than O’Hare – it was smaller, fewer people. “Less people to bother,” he liked to say, to himself.

He inhaled deeply, smelled the acrid scent of traveler, and frowned slightly. He liked his air clean, constantly recycled.

Walking quickly over to Baggage Claim 1, Jack saw the blinking red light and heard the klaxon sound. Perfect timing, as always.

He liked to start at Baggage Claim 1 and then move through them all, numerically. He was good at numbers, after all.

He got a 760 on his SAT’s.

* * * * * *

Baggage Claim 1 grew larger in his eyes as he started to hum the muzak in the room. His heart beat faster as he approached the spinning, metal track. Closing his eyes he took a deep, steadying breath.

And that’s when he smelled her.

Lauren.

It couldn’t be! She was far way – far too far away to be here. Jack hadn’t seen her for years. Surely she’d have called before she came to visit.

Wildly, he looked around the baggage claim. Eyes wide and pointed, his lips pulled back in a predatory grimace, he leapt through the throng of people to find the source of that scent.

Out of the corner of his eye he spied a lock of long blonde hair, and darting to it he lost sight of everything else in the room.

Jack reached out a hand and touched the shoulder of the blonde woman now in front of him. She turned around, gape-mouthed.

“Excuse me?”

Jack dropped his hand and without a word turned and left the terminal.

* * * * * *

Back at his car, Jack slowly relaxed. It wasn’t her, he thought to himself, a mixture of anger and relief flooding through his body. He once again fingered the small letter he kept in his left jacket pocket. Had it really been ten years? Ten years since he worked in that office? Ten years since…Lauren?

He took the letter out of his pocket and gently opened the ragged pages. How many times had he done this? How often must he re-read this letter?

The memory of her came back to him as he silently looked through the ornate cursive in front of him:

“Dear Jack,” it began. “Forgive me.”

Tears came to his eyes, stopping him from reading any further. It didn’t matter much anyway: he knew what it said.

Memories floated back to him. Memories of their first meeting, when he accidentally walked into her office on his first day instead of his. Of their shared love of coffee and the equal dislike of sugar substitutes. He remembered the first time they made love, quietly and softly, under a blanket of stars visible through the sunroof of her car.

Steeling himself, he straightened in the car seat and blew his nose into a tissue he kept in the glove compartment. He coughed once and opened the door, sliding the letter back into his pocket. He steadied himself. Emotions were playthings of the devil – that’s what Mother always said.

If he didn’t get to work soon he’d lose precious time

Time he should be with Lauren.

* * * * * *

This time when he walked into the terminal, he noticed the security guard glancing around the room. Jack wasn’t worried, though: he was swift. Besides, time was running out so he wasn’t going to waste it worrying about this guy. Jack knew that it didn’t take smarts to be a security guard: it just took a couple hundred bucks to a security school and a handgun license. Besides, he had both of those already.

He quickly approached Baggage Claim 1 and stood amongst the crowd. For his first one of the day he liked to be in a crowd. It was more difficult this way, but also safer.

The bags started to pop out of the shoot like chunks of chicken poured from a soup can. Jack waited. Inside he was tensed like a panther but was visibly relaxed.

First an orange bag shot out. Jack avoided it. In his experience it was best to wait for the black bags. They are the most common – and the easiest lost. The overhead at the terminal announced the boarding of flight 584 to Phoenix.

A black bag came next and then a green. Jack waited; wisely, for the muscular man next to him grabbed the green bag and the elderly lady reached for the black. Jack grabbed it and set it down next to her.

“Thank you,” she said. He nodded.

A few more bags came out and then he saw it: the perfect bag.

It had roller wheels on it and was solid black. No identifying piece of string was attached, nor was there a colored ribbon or anything else that distinguished it from the thousands of other bags. The bag wasn’t Samsonite or any other expensive brand – Jack guessed it was one of the cheap, generic bags they sell at Target or any other discount store.

As the bag made its way along the track no one made a move to get it. It reached Jack and he grabbed it and pulled. It was heavy, but not too heavy. It was important to grab one that you could easily lift.

Jack put it on the floor and eased the handle out of its protective sheath. Extending it, he started to roll the bag towards the garage.

Of course no one checked his ticket. They were too busy checking people onto flights to worry about people leaving.

* * * * * *

Back at his car, Jack put the bag into his trunk. He patted it once and it made a good solid sound. He wouldn’t open it here. He had to wait until he got home.

Reaching around the bag he found another jacket and a different pair of shoes. He sat on the edge of his car and quietly changed apparel, transferring the letter over to the innermost left pocket of the new jacket. He did up his new laces and tightened the tongue. The sound of a plane flying overhead startled him.

Memories of Lauren flew back to him.

Their first vacation together. He couldn’t afford anything fancy, so she had paid. She took him to Mexico, to the beach. She said he needed a tan, that he was too pale.

“You look like a ghost!” she would giggle mightily as she kissed him in public.

He nodded curtly to her.

They went swimming and made love and watched movies and silently thought that the other was too good for them.

And when the bills came, she grabbed them from his hands.

He suffered his embarrassment in silence.

Jack blinked twice and re-checked his new pair of sneakers. He cleared his head and coughed.

He walked back into the garage.

Time for Baggage Claim 2.

* * * * * *

There are eight baggage claims in Midway. In a good day’s work, Jack could get about 24 bags, as long as he took his time and it was a busy travel day. On this chilly September day he only managed 14, but it was a slow day at the airport.

The last bag he took, a black duffel bag with no identifying information on it, he carried with him to the front seat of his car. He wanted to go through it when he drove home, because usually travelers don’t put clothes in a duffel bag.

As he left the airport carrying the bag, he saw the line at the “lost luggage” counter stretching back towards the carousel. About 15 people stood in line, and that was just from the most recent three flights.

Jack had been there for hours.

He often wondered, looking at that line, if airlines really did lose all these bags, or were there more people with jobs like his?

* * * * * *

Jack was disappointed. The duffel bag didn’t have anything particularly interesting in it. There were the usual toiletry items, which Jack couldn’t do much with except use and store. He was, however, impressed with the softness of his hands now that he had started to take more of the ladies’ bags.

He spread the fourteen bags out throughout his small, studio apartment. They nicely matched the décor, he thought to himself, as he always did when he walked into his apartment. The dank coolness of the basement apartment usually suited Jack, but today he seemed especially cool. It must have been seeing Lauren like that. He opened the duffel bag and grabbed the sweater he had seen. It fit, if he didn’t mind sleeves that were a bit short. He didn’t so much care for the large grinning pumpkin on the front, but he supposed it was the season.

Bags filled every available space. He had to be careful selling them to pawn shops or used stores: too many in a short period of time and he might get caught. Once he had sold five bags to the same store in one week, but he stopped going there when the manager came over and asked if he needed help.

He had bags in bags, in bags. Big, soft bags doubled as chairs. Four bags held up his bed, one bag at each corner. Stacked bags, made sturdier through double or triple bagging, held up a piece of plywood as a makeshift table.

Jack was good at stacking bags.

He did get a 760 on his SAT’s, after all.

Opening up the first of the larger bags, Jack started to sort the merchandise. Any clothing went into a large pile. He could sell those during the flea market this weekend, or maybe even hawk them on his street stall later in the week. That was always the largest pile.

Toiletries and other sundries went into a second pile. These he had trouble figuring out what to do with. Obviously, he kept some for himself: it’s good to take care of yourself, especially in the winter months. But there was so much of it. Usually, he found the bottle of the most expensive stuff, and then combined everything else into that bottle until it was full. Then he’d mail it to Mother as a present.

He loved Mother. She’d always given him good advice.

The next pile contained any books or CDs or DVDs. These always made him money – he could sell those that the used bookstore down the street, or at any number of venders that had stalls in his area. He liked living near the flea market, and would go all the time.

Lauren used to love the flea market too.

Lauren.

After their first few months together he became convinced he wasn’t worth her time. She – from her parents’ blue blood background and college morals – lived a much more luxurious life than he could ever provide for her on his meager salary.

He became convinced she was going to leave him.

So convinced, in fact, that she did.

It was a clear spring day when she told him that she couldn’t deal with his insecurities any more. “It’s you I love, not what you have…or don’t have,” she said. She might as well have spit in his face.

She left that night and said that if he ever grew up, he should find her. She flew across the county and called him the next day with an address and a phone number.

He wrote them down silently.

She begged him to act more maturely.

He said he couldn’t.

She said she wanted him back, but only if he truly accepted himself. She said, “if you can come back to me with open arms and a smile on your face, you don’t have to have presents and you don’t have to have gifts. It’s not what you bring someone, but what you bring to them. To me, Jack, you bring a smile.”

He had put the phone back on its cradle without saying a word. It was rude, he knew.

He shook his head in order to clear it. He couldn’t think about her now. Soon, soon they’d be together. Unconsciously, he put his hand into his jacket pocket and felt her letter.

The fourth pile, smaller still, was the most valuable. This pile contained all the electronic equipment, the presents, and the small, expensive gadgets that people got each other. That people were forever buying each other, and never using. Long ago, Jack had concluded that gadgets were this century’s fruitcake. Eternally given and never used. Who really uses a book light that has an electronic dictionary on it, anyway?

This pile, however, was the gold mine. He could sell off this stuff and make hundreds of dollars. The ones that were gifts he usually managed to return to a store for credit. Although stores were strict about returns without a receipt, and would usually issue him a store credit instead of a cash refund, he never had any problems unloading the store credit cards on eBay. People were always willing to buy store credit.

The last pile, the smallest pile, he reserved for Lauren. When he closed his eyes, he could still hear her laughter when he’s bring her home some small trinket he’d bought. She loved ballerinas and horses the most, but she was a true lover of any cute knick-knack. He never knew why anyone would like something that they would put on a shelf and never look at, but it made her happy and who was he to complain about that? Jewelry too – anything amber or jade. Lauren, who blonde hair and green eyes seemed forever to be complemented by those stones.

So he would put aside special presents for Lauren. The small jewelry that he didn’t want to sell, the trinkets he thought were silly: these he carefully laid on the table while he sorted through the rest of the bags. At the end of the night he would reuse the wrapping paper from the gifts he had opened and wrap each Lauren-gift. They would then be placed delicately and with care into the green bag he kept by his bed: her bag.

After sorting through the fourteen bags he had gotten that day, he had a lot of piles. His evening was only starting, however – he still had to sell it all. He sighed and started to fold the clothes. He was looking at another eight hours before he’d get some time to himself tonight.

* * * * * *

It was nearly 1 in the morning when Jack returned home, hands empty but wallet full. It had been a great haul today – counting the digital camera and the unopened iPod, he’s managed to get about 1000 dollars worth of merchandise and 300 dollars in store credit, which he’d probably be able to sell for 250. Including the few Lauren-gifts he’d found, he had done really well.

He sat on his bag-chair and opened a beer. It tasted good and cold and he drank it quickly. He closed his eyes and thought about Lauren. Slowly, with little effort, he drifted to sleep.

* * * * * *

For ten years he had been at this. Six days a week picking up luggage. Six days a week selling the stuff and turning a profit. Every day he would tick off another box on his calendar. Soon, he would be ready. Soon he would have enough money to make the trip.

Soon he would see Lauren.

Jack sat in his studio apartment sipping a cup of tea with his left hand. He had his checkbook in front of him and quickly added the numbers up. He was good at adding.

He did get a 760 on his SAT’s, after all.

After ten years of this he had close to three million dollars.

And a hell of a lot of trinkets.

It was time.

* * * * * *

The next day he stuffed a dark brown attaché case full of his cash and packed a suitcase. It wasn’t hard – there were hundreds around him.

He put in a few clothes and a few sundries and a few toiletries. And then he opened the Lauren-gift bag.

It was bursting with shiny jewelry, silky, porcelain ballerinas and miniature horses. He grabbed them by the handful and put them carefully in his suitcase. Hundreds of them, collected off thousands of millions of travelers for a decade. Parents with gifts to their long-loved children. Grandparents seen after twenty years. Friends, lovers, wives, husbands – the thousands of people that bought hundreds of presents to their loved ones now donating their precious items so that Jack could give them to Lauren.

It was as if the entire world wanted him to get back together with her.

He carefully put the last gift-wrapped horse into the bag. Then, almost as an after-thought, he slipped the dark brown attaché cash of money into the bag. It almost didn’t fit – three million dollars, even in hundred dollar bills, is still thick and heavy.

Finally, his bag packed he drove one last time to the airport.

He went to the lone pay phone sitting forlornly against the backdrop of a voiceless city. Slipping his money into the phone, he dialed the number at the bottom of the letter.

She answered.

He spoke.

After he hung up the phone he bought a one-way ticket to Seattle and checked his luggage in. He walked the concourse and noticed the smiling, laughing, kissing, loving.

Funny, he’d never really seen it from this side. He’d only ever seen the angry, the upset, the abused.

He smiled when they called his plane number and he smiled when the steward took his drink order. He closed his eyes and slept until the plane touched down and then he left the plane and went to see her.

She was everything he ever remembered.

She told him she was sorry.

He said, “Lauren, I have a surprise for you. In fact, I have many surprises.”

And they turned to face the baggage claim to wait for his bag.

* * * * * *

Frank sighed a deep sigh as he heaved the heavy black bag from his trunk and brought it up to his apartment near the Space Needle.

“Oh God,” he thought as he later opened it. “What am I going to do with a hundred damn ballerinas?”

And then he saw the attaché case.

- Paul Booth

Reprinted Courtesy of Booth and Noble.