Day 36: That Poor Tag
For years, my most risky endeavor was to travel with a naked bag—no luggage tag, no identification, nothing that named my bag as mine. I’m not sure why I never identified it, other than that I always forgot to do it before I left and it always seemed too complicated to find a tag once at the airport (never mind that every counter stocks them).
Last spring, I finally obtained a plastic tag and zip tied it to my bag. I didn’t notice that I tied it to the very bottom until my dad picked me up at the airport last week and I watched him drag it around. That poor tag has swept at least six different airports.
I’m back at PDX today and I think I’m going to leave it. Forever. If I had any science skills whatsoever, I’d collect a sample from the bottom edge and analyze it under a microscope. I’m sure there’s some interesting stuff on there.