February 13, 2011 – What’s a few pounds!

Do I look helpless? Do I look fragile? Do I look like need to be taken care of? I wonder… There must be something about me that makes people feel that they just have to help me. It is most apparent during traveling: without my involvement in the process, my suitcases get carried over the stairs, my carry-on gets lifted onto the overhead compartment, my overweight luggage gets onto the belt without any extra fee charged. Pheromones again? Whatever it is, I hope I will never lose it! It makes my life so much easier.

During the check-in at La Guardia airport, they made the guy right in front of me take 2 extra pounds out of his suitcase (the current luggage limit is 50 lbs). When I placed my gigantic bag on the scale, it showed 57 lbs. I started on the bag's zipper, ready to rearrange things, but the flight attendant smiled at me, "What's a few pounds! Don't worry about it!" The attendant was a lady. So it has nothing to do with the sexual attraction (well, I cannot be 100% sure, of courseJ).

My carry-on was definitely bigger than allowed and much-much heavier – 47 lbs (by the way, neither of my two overweight suitcases contained any of my things, they were stuffed with wet-suits, fins and other diving paraphernalia that dive masters on the island requested me to bring from NYC). I was trying to stroll very casually to the gate pretending that the bag was light as a feather. In the front of my line a guy was arguing with a flight attendant – his carry-on didn't pass the requirements and the flight attendant insisted on making him check in his bag. The guy's argument was valid – every other person in line had a similar bag (with new luggage limitations everybody tries to pack as much as they possibly can into their carry-on). I tried to "block" my obviously oversized suitcase with my body and look non-chalant at the same time. The flight attendant was relentless. The guy continued to argue. The line was moving. Finally, it was my turn. I made sure that the bag was on the opposite side of the flight attendant and smiled nicely as I handed my boarding pass over to him. No questions asked, I was allowed to board. The poor guy stood dumbfounded, suddenly he realized there was no point in continuing the argument.

And yes, on the plane, my 47-pound carry-on was lifted (as if it were light as a feather) but a body-builder type whose seat was across the aisle from me. What luck!

I love my pheromones. Is there any risk that you may run out of them one day? I hope not!