No travel bags..!
Robert Clements
Friday, April 22, 2011 - When I drive to town there’s a spot where the red light stays a little longer than the green, but that’s one red stop that doesn’t trouble me, because just outside is a Travel Shop. It seems each time I pass there’s a new bag on display and I sit and stare at strolleys and trolleys and bags and suitcases that would make me the envy of any airport.
“Sir where are you going to?” I imagine the attendant asking me looking at my red bag, with shining zipper and she with shiny eyes.
“London!” I say. “We’ll fly you free sir! What a bag! What a bag!” As the red light turns green I turn to my driver and tell him that the next time we go by I’ll just slip in and pick up one of those marvels on display and he grins and assures me he’ll remind me to do so. I never do and he never does and suddenly am thrust with plane tickets and told to go to some remote place to speak or just holiday. “Which bag do I take?” I ask my wife.
“You’ve got only one,” she says and pulls out from inside depths of dusty cupboard long lost suitcase that through dust and grime grins at me, “Where to this time master?” “Shut up!” I say and try to wipe grime and dust, but am left with sneezing fit and bloodied eye. “Bus stop or railway station?” grins my driver. “Airport!” I say and watch him look at bag and snigger.
Security fellows at the airport who now see terrorist in every passenger, stop me and stare at bag. “You can’t go in!” “Why not! I’m a passenger!” “Ticket!” And I watch a perfectly valid ticket being treated worse than forged document. The chappy at the X ray machine looks carefully at me and talks into walky talky, “This way sir!”
“My baggage?” “Will be opened after we search you behind that screen!” “Do I look like that sort of person?” I cry. “I do!” yells my box as I kick it hard. I walk out at destination and look for my friend. I wait and wait and finally when everybody has gone he turns up, “What happened?” I ask looking crossly at watch. “I waited for all to leave Bob! Couldn’t be seen picking anyone up with that box..!”
“You know something,” I tell him crossly, “When we go home to God, on our final journey we won’t be able to take any bags with us!” And my friend he looks strangely at me, and I decide I’ll buy myself a new bag at that travel shop where the red light stays a little longer than the green.
—Email:bobsbanter@gmail.com
“Sir where are you going to?” I imagine the attendant asking me looking at my red bag, with shining zipper and she with shiny eyes.
“London!” I say. “We’ll fly you free sir! What a bag! What a bag!” As the red light turns green I turn to my driver and tell him that the next time we go by I’ll just slip in and pick up one of those marvels on display and he grins and assures me he’ll remind me to do so. I never do and he never does and suddenly am thrust with plane tickets and told to go to some remote place to speak or just holiday. “Which bag do I take?” I ask my wife.
“You’ve got only one,” she says and pulls out from inside depths of dusty cupboard long lost suitcase that through dust and grime grins at me, “Where to this time master?” “Shut up!” I say and try to wipe grime and dust, but am left with sneezing fit and bloodied eye. “Bus stop or railway station?” grins my driver. “Airport!” I say and watch him look at bag and snigger.
Security fellows at the airport who now see terrorist in every passenger, stop me and stare at bag. “You can’t go in!” “Why not! I’m a passenger!” “Ticket!” And I watch a perfectly valid ticket being treated worse than forged document. The chappy at the X ray machine looks carefully at me and talks into walky talky, “This way sir!”
“My baggage?” “Will be opened after we search you behind that screen!” “Do I look like that sort of person?” I cry. “I do!” yells my box as I kick it hard. I walk out at destination and look for my friend. I wait and wait and finally when everybody has gone he turns up, “What happened?” I ask looking crossly at watch. “I waited for all to leave Bob! Couldn’t be seen picking anyone up with that box..!”
“You know something,” I tell him crossly, “When we go home to God, on our final journey we won’t be able to take any bags with us!” And my friend he looks strangely at me, and I decide I’ll buy myself a new bag at that travel shop where the red light stays a little longer than the green.
—Email:bobsbanter@gmail.com
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