Why I am glad I don't work in an airport.

There are, in fact, many reasons why I am glad I don't work in an airport. This just happens to be one of them.

We were at the baggage claim carousel in the Lexington airport after having returned from a weekend in Texas (where, sadly, we missed another golden opportunity to mess with it), when the carousel stopped and we were left without a piece of our luggage. Being the extremely cool and carefree people that we are (and considering that we were home and no longer in dire need of our nice clothes*), we shrugged a little and then sauntered over to the "Lost Baggage" desk to sort things out. There was an older woman in line in front of us, and she was doing everything short of dog-cussing the man behind the counter. This is what we heard:

Airport Employee: Ma'am, I'm not sure that I understand...
Angry Old Woman: Yes, this looks like my bag, but it is not my bag. My suitcase wasn't all tore up like this!
Airport Employee: But the contents of the bag are yours?
Angry Old Woman: Yes, but you people must have opened my real suitcase and put my stuff in this other bag, because my suitcase wasn't torn like this! And it also didn't have tape on the handle! This suitcase isn't mine!
Airport Employee: Ma'am, what you are describing could not have happened. I'm telling you, it is not possible that this happened.
Angry Old Woman: I'm not saying that it is possible that it happened. I am saying that it did happen!!!
Airport Employee (subtext): I hate my job.

*Since mostly, when we are at home, we wear sweatpants covered with bleach stains and dirty wife-beater tank tops