COLUMN: Put Your Hands Up and Step Away from the Bag

By Tobin Barnes
We were bushwhacked, I tell you, bamboozled and flimflammed.

It was a travesty of justice! It was skyway robbery! It was....

Wait. I never really like to appear too grumpy to my readers because…because…oh, what the heck? Who am I kidding? I’m a grump, and I’m going to enjoy being grumpy today.

That’s because I’ve got a bone to pick and an axe to grind. So here goes:
 
I like being in other places, but I don’t like getting there, see.

And the means of travel that I dislike even more than flying is driving. I know, some people enjoy driving, driving, driving long miles to get somewhere. Not me. I don’t. People who enjoy long road trips have never seen the humor in the Clark Griswold character.
 
When I drive hours on end, I feel like my life is seeping out my ears.
 
But I hate flying almost as much. It’s only the lesser of the two evils because it’s quicker.
 
They used to claim that it was fun to fly. My memory doesn’t go back that far. It’s never been “fun” for me, and it’s gotten less so with each passing trip.
 
The whole process from parking fees to what to pack and what not to pack, from standing in lines to delays and cancellations, from lost luggage to being eyed and examined and suspected has all become torturous enough.
 
But on our last flight, we encountered a fresh new circle of airline hell. It’s the carry-on-baggage “sizer.”
 
And what’s that? Wait my unsuspecting little babes-in-the-woods-like-me, and you shall see.
 
They’ve been charging for non-carry-on baggage for some time now. That’s nothing new. You’ve got to roll with the punches—especially when you see them coming—because there’s going to be a lot of punches. We adjusted by packing lighter and putting everything into two carry-on bags, one for each of us.
 
We even bought two new “carry-ons” that we thought fit the bill because they were called, appropriately enough, “carry-on” baggage. Besides, they were pretty darned spiffy. We used those bags without incident on two prior trips that we had taken.
 
But then came the recent trip when we got bushwhacked by the bean counters of corporate America. The name of this so-called “discount” airline I’ll leave to your imagination. Just realize that this new contagion will probably spread to other airlines given the current culture.
 
Anyway, there we were standing in line and merrily rolling our spiffy bags up to the ticket counter when these people behind us piped up and virtually destroyed our pre-trip reverie.
 
“Maybe they’ll let your bags go through,” one of them said, “but last time they charged us for bags that size.”
 
Now what could that mean? Must be some crank. I try not to talk to strangers, or anyone else for that matter.
 
“Yeah,” said the other, apparently thinking we wanted this information, “we had to go to the toy department to get carry-ons the size they would accept.” And there they stood behind us with two little lavender jobbies like I’ve seen children traveling with.

“Can’t really get much into them,” the first one said, “but it’s better than paying extra.”
 
Sure enough, now that we looked toward the ticket counter, innocent people, like us, were trying to wedge their normal-sized carry-on bags into a ridiculously small, aluminum-barred “sizer” that in the wrong hands could be used in Satanic initiation rites.
 
The ticket agents stood patiently by as the travelers tried everything but a sledge hammer (because there weren’t any handy) to try to squeeze their bags into that measuring box.
 
You could almost see the ticket agents thinking in a snarky sort of way, “Knock yourself out, buddy, it ain’t gonna fit. Do whatever it takes to convince yourself you’re going to have to pay us more money to get on that plane.”
 
After watching a number of people go through contortions with bags smaller than ours, we faced the facts: “How much is it going to cost us?”
 
“Thirty-five dollars…each way…for each bag.” That’s right, $140 above and beyond the price of our “discount” tickets. So, yes, we had been bushwhacked, bamboozled, and flimflammed. Extortion might not be too strong a word. And why? Purely revenue.
 
When we got to our seats on the plane, most of the overhead storage bins were empty: More than enough room for our bags and those of our fellow travelers who had also been bushwhacked, bamboozled, and flimflammed.