Red is the new Black

Last evening after supper I came back to my cabin (lovely, lovely cabin,

to find I still did not have my suitcase. Having seen it loaded onto the bus at Heathrow, I knew it had arrived at the port. In fact, standing at the railing earlier in the evening I had watched cart after cart of luggage loaded onto the ship.

Remember when all the luggage on the airport baggage carousels were black? Hundreds and hundreds of black bags coming off distinguishable only occasionally by the label or brand. But it was not uncommon to see various versions of one’s bag going by requiring a close checking of tags in order not to leave with someone else’s bag. Kind of like the Israeli green duffles that were so commonly purchased by those of us who had done Balkan deployments.

Anyway, earlier this year when I replaced my deteriorating Boyt bag, I went with Rimova light weight hard sided luggage. Using mileage put it barely into the affordable range (have I mentioned how much I love the guy I married?). I went with the red-rust figuring that it would be easier to spot in baggage halls and carrousels since it wasn’t black.

Today, watching the luggage being loaded I was horrified to realize that about 1/4 bags on those carts were red. True they were various sizes and shapes but still – red. Almost as common as black as a matter of fact. (Please note – I saw no mint green and the rare bright blue bag so I think my daughters might still be safe with their luggage choices).

So back to this evening. I went to find my cabin attendant and asked him where was my bag. Got this blank look – you don’t have it?

No, I don’t. You didn’t se it or put it in the cabin?


I stand there looking at him. He finally gets the hint and calls downstairs, then asks me to describe the suitcase.

Silence – then, yes – it is probably down there, I should go downstairs.

(Did I mention that the RCI personnel placed the tags? Or that my name/address are clearly present on the permanent tag?)

I limp my way down to the first floor. Sitting right there is my suitcase. I talk to the nice woman in charge, she verifies that it is me. The Cruise line tag had come off. Ok, can they deliver it? No, those people are now off duty. Huh? It will be tomorrow unless I want to take it myself.

Ok, haul the suitcase to the elevator and back up to Deck 9. The halls are all carpeted and I am at the other end of the ship.

Partway down the hall, my cabin attendant sees me struggling with the suitcase (I did mention the limping didn’t I? Knee is still sore and swollen from overexercise and that plane flight). He watches me till I finally get to the cabin then opens the door for me. As he attempts to follow me in, I give in to my tempter and slam the door in his face.

Hello? Either he is not bright, not helpful, or totally useless. I am reserving judgement, but we are not off to a good start. Looks like red is also a good reflection of my temper!

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