Today Emilie and I flew to L.A., where we’ll be spending the next 10 days. One of my best friends (Bill) is getting married this weekend and we decided to make an extended trip out of it by staying for Thanksgiving (Emilie’s first) as well.
The flights went relatively smoothly, though we were nonetheless exhausted by the time that we arrived at LAX as it was around 3am Lausanne time (6pm local time). We had been up for nearly 20 hours and still needed to tough it out for the rest of the night in order to fend off jet lag.
The whole flights "went relatively smoothly" thing unfortunately did not apply to one piece of our checked luggage, however. While our suitcases came out quite quickly -- positioning us to get a leg up on most of the other passengers with respect to the lengthy customs check line -- a healthy dose of reality set in when we heard the following words: “Sir, your bag is leaking”.
Let’s take a few steps back…
When Emilie and I visited the Burgundy wine region in France, I bought some bottles to give as x-mas gifts for my friends back home. Due to customs limits (or to be more precise, my fear of being caught exceeding them), we were limited to two bottles per person so that I could bring in the full haul before x-mas.
Anyway, we bubble-wrapped the bottles and took seemingly sufficient precautions so that there would be no surprises upon our arrival to LAX. But the LAX baggage handlers ultimately showed us who’s boss as one of the bottles in Emilie’s checked luggage cracked at the neck under the label and began leaking in (and out of) her bag.
At that point we went into triage mode while Emilie spewed forth her best assortment of French profanity. We expected the worst while hoping for the best -- and the end result ultimately fell somewhere in between. Thank God the dress for the wedding went unscathed (don’t ask why we packed bottles of red wine with anything remotely important…).
During the clean-up process – which took place in full view of nearly every person arriving on an international flight at the time – there were incredibly helpful people. Some offered their napkins and/or Kleenex while others pointed me to the nearest restroom for hand towels.
But a special few were not so helpful…like the guy who cracked a smile and went out of his way to ask: “So, was it at least a good vintage?” Or the guy who smirked and gave us a “that sucks” in a condescending tone (this nearly resulted in the breaking of bottle No. 2 over his head).
The flights went relatively smoothly, though we were nonetheless exhausted by the time that we arrived at LAX as it was around 3am Lausanne time (6pm local time). We had been up for nearly 20 hours and still needed to tough it out for the rest of the night in order to fend off jet lag.
The whole flights "went relatively smoothly" thing unfortunately did not apply to one piece of our checked luggage, however. While our suitcases came out quite quickly -- positioning us to get a leg up on most of the other passengers with respect to the lengthy customs check line -- a healthy dose of reality set in when we heard the following words: “Sir, your bag is leaking”.
Let’s take a few steps back…
When Emilie and I visited the Burgundy wine region in France, I bought some bottles to give as x-mas gifts for my friends back home. Due to customs limits (or to be more precise, my fear of being caught exceeding them), we were limited to two bottles per person so that I could bring in the full haul before x-mas.
Anyway, we bubble-wrapped the bottles and took seemingly sufficient precautions so that there would be no surprises upon our arrival to LAX. But the LAX baggage handlers ultimately showed us who’s boss as one of the bottles in Emilie’s checked luggage cracked at the neck under the label and began leaking in (and out of) her bag.
At that point we went into triage mode while Emilie spewed forth her best assortment of French profanity. We expected the worst while hoping for the best -- and the end result ultimately fell somewhere in between. Thank God the dress for the wedding went unscathed (don’t ask why we packed bottles of red wine with anything remotely important…).
During the clean-up process – which took place in full view of nearly every person arriving on an international flight at the time – there were incredibly helpful people. Some offered their napkins and/or Kleenex while others pointed me to the nearest restroom for hand towels.
But a special few were not so helpful…like the guy who cracked a smile and went out of his way to ask: “So, was it at least a good vintage?” Or the guy who smirked and gave us a “that sucks” in a condescending tone (this nearly resulted in the breaking of bottle No. 2 over his head).
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