This is the second in a series of blogs I’ll be writing about my wife, Rosemarie. She is the real-life Wonder Woman but without the cape. If you need to catch up, scroll below to my August 4th blog titled “Love Story: Boy Meets Girl!”
I am the first to admit that I don’t have a boatload of “smarts” cruising around inside my brain. I can get along with creative thinking, but when it comes to logical, insightful perception of things around me—uh uh, I’m just not picking up that vibe. My wife, Rosemarie, on the other hand, is one of the most cut-through-the-crap thinkers I’ve ever met. There are times when she downright amazes me with the way she’ll solve a puzzle. Case in point: The Over-stuffed Suitcase.
image from beautyheaven.com
Five years ago Rosemarie and I took one of those popular cruises in Alaska. It was great, except for the “getting there” part. The ship departed from Vancouver. Our originating flight out of South Florida was late leaving. We had to make a connecting flight at an airport somewhere in the northeast, but I can’t remember exactly where. When we landed at the connecting airport we had what seemed like a five-mile hike to get to the gate for our plane to Vancouver. We’d have to haul to make the plane. Adding to the challenge was the fact that we had to go through security all over again.
We each had a carry-on piece of luggage–the typical zippered, soft-sided kind with little wheels. When we put our suitcases on the conveyor belt to be screened, this airport had a piece of Plexiglas installed on the belt with a cutout. Any carry-on suitcase would have to pass through the cutout before proceeding to the x-ray check. Rosemarie’s suitcase got hung up at the Plexiglas. It was about an inch too high to make it through. The Plexiglas attendant told us that we would have to go back to the airline desk in the original terminal (the one that was five miles back) and book the suitcase.
If there were ever a situation I should not find myself in, this was it. I immediately display no patience, zero tolerance and instant rage when something stupid is being done to me. I explained to the attendant that this very same bag was carried on a plane that got us here from South Florida and that it was the same airline. So if it was okay for one flight, why not this one? She did not answer my question. She simply said if the bag does not fit through the Plexiglas cutout it cannot be carried onto the plane.
Okay, I admit, my voice probably went up a few decibels in volume and when I am agitated I have a bad habit of talking with my arms and hands flailing in every direction. The attendant did not like my louder voice and flailing appendages. She told me that If I continued, not only would the suitcase not be boarding the plane, neither would I. I took a deep breath and tried once more to rationalize with the attendant in a very calm and non-threatening manner, repeating my testimonial that the bag had already been carried on a plane from Florida, by the same airline, and it presented no problem.
While I am uselessly pleading my case, the attendant is turning around looking for another attendant—the one who would probably escort me to a little room somewhere in the airport. Rosemarie’s suitcase, meanwhile, continues to slide from side to side on the conveyor belt as it attempts, almost on my behalf, to squeeze through the Plexiglas cutout.
Then, the miracle that is Rosemarie and why I haven’t left her side for 45 years, descended from the heavens and took control of the matter. Saint Rosemarie, who had said absolutely nothing up to this point, unzipped the top of her suitcase. She opened it up, reached in and withdrew several items of clothing. She then closed the lid, zipped it back up and watched as the suitcase now proceeded unrestrained through the Plexiglas cutout, following by a small stack of her clothes which she has laid on the conveyor belt just behind it. At the end of the belt, she retrieved the suitcase and her clothes, walked over to a bench where she sat down and reunited the two items once more. We got on the plane and continued our trip to Vancouver. I was at a loss of words for about, well, at least three weeks.
As you can see, Rosemarie and I do not process information and react to situations in the same way…thank God.
Books by Marc Kuhn. Information at http://www.marckuhn.com
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