Getting off the plane with tired eyes, trying to figure what time it is, I am heading to the fearful zone of the luggage carusel. Will I get lucky today? Will I get my suitcase within a reasonable amount of time? Who knows. The karusel starts spinning, like the roulette of life, and i'm hoping, hoping the next bullet is for me.
no.
the next one?
no.
waiting.
Who are those people who are the first to get their bag out? Did it ever happen to you? Or to you? Are they free masons? Mossad agents? Is there a tip box for the porters i'm not aware of? Perhaps I should slip a fifty Euro bill with my passport at check in. once, for once in my lifetime I want the sun to shine on me, and to get my bag first. Or at least second. Well, tenth would also be ok.
Thirty minutes after, my bag is slowly peeking out the dragon's lair.
Perhaps next time. Who knows.
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