Not flying into the US this week was of course a joyous occasion: no extra security, no reduced hand baggage allowances, no full body pat-downs, no quick crotch-pats, and no having to reef my dress above my waist to be checked for explosive underwear. Yes, it was truly a sedate experience. Even the Air Canada flight was so empty (a total of 50 passengers in economy -lucky I wasn’t one of them!) that Exec First couldn’t take any upgrades because the weights would have been off-balance and we may not have kept our noses in the air for the full duration of the flight.

It was an almost freakishly lonely experience and in fact, arriving at Pearson yesterday was almost a little scary; no queues for immigration, no other flight arrivals, and just the very pleasant sound of music being pumped through the speakers at the luggage carousel rather than the usual airport announcements. It was as if the entire airport was on Valium. There I stood, surveying the enormous baggage hall and wondering where all the travellers and customers officers were alike. Well, until one loan and very attractive policeman entered into my line of sight. Hmm, he was even looking at me. I smiled.

Of course, had I looked in the mirror after my snooze across the ocean, I would have thought twice about that smile and as he approached me, rather than smiling a little larger I would have patted down my hair and wiping the smudged mascara from below my eyes. Luckily, just as he came close to me the honking of the baggage arrival sounded and I turned to view my two very tightly packed pieces of luggage thump their way on the belt.

For a split second I forgot about the rather nice looking officer in his neatly pressed uniform and instead focused on getting my rather overweight luggage from the carousel to my trolley. I grabbed each in turn and tossed them off the belt to the ground. The police officer to my surprise was not amused.

“Madam, Can I help you with that?
“No thanks” I whispered, without looking up thinking he was being a gentleman. “I can handle it just fine”

His two black shiny boots appeared at my feet and I thought, how nice of him to offer, he must be having a quiet day. And then came his question. One of the few questions that can send my mood from zero to sixty in a split second and remove all semblance of pleasantness from my vocabulary with little effort.

“Why is your luggage so heavy?” He politely but firmly demanded.
“Because I travel with too much crap” I spat back, no thought of his nice looking face that I’d noticed just minutes earlier in the distance.

“But why does your luggage have so much stuff in it?” he again enquired. By this time I was eye to eye with him and his face was looking a little more red than I remembered as he approached.

I then did what I so often do when I’m irritated: launch into a completely incomprehensible blabber of events that took place leading up to my having to travel with 32 (correction…31.9) KG’s of luggage times 2. The nice looking policeman now looked a little surprised, maybe even confused, or possibly just thought he’d stumbled on a raving lunatic and was now sorry he had opened his mouth.

I was unimpressed. The weight of my luggage was an ongoing point of irritation for the past 22 years of air travel. I believed one should travel with what ever one really would like to. Most other people including friends, family, check-in staff, taxi drivers, and colleagues, believed restraint was in order and luggage limits were in place for a reason. I believe, that’s what airline status is for, to overcome all those objections!

The policeman still stared at me and asked again why my luggage looked like it weighed so much, this time changing his phrase slightly.
“What are you travelling with that makes your luggage so heavy?”
“Stuff! Clothing, winter wear, shoes, boots, books, cosmetics” my mind was busy recalling all that was contained in side my overstuffed luggage.

Then came what I thought was the most unusual question I’d ever been asked, which made me think to my current physical appearance that I validated upon my arrival home a little later. I must have looked a mess!
“Are you sure you are not carrying agricultural supplies or equipment?”

Without a thought, the only words that found their way out of my mouth, were these:
“Do I look like a farmer’s daughter!?!” More a statement than a question I was clearly not happy with his line of enquiry.

“Oh, no madame” he said almost embarrassed. “OK, you have a nice day, sorry to bother you” The nice police officer replied and walked away as quickly as he had arrived at my feet.

While many women have issues when discussions move to the subject of their weight, I however, do not. Unless the words luggage and weight are contained in the same sentence and then you might just as well be standing between a hippo and water; the resulting onslaught is never a pretty site, no matter how shiny your shoes are or how nice your face looks.

Weight should never be discussed in public or at airports if you ask me and my later taxi driver had clearly learned that lesson, chosing only to say “wow, do you have gold bars in here?” a much more pleasant way to announce his surprise at the weight of my bags. Bless those who understand and may the rest …. burn in lost luggage hell!

The sad news is of course that this will go on until the airline industry can jettison its way out of this proverbial flying circus. It’s no surprise that 2009 saw airliners lose a startling $11 billion. Each week I travel I see more and more reasons why; poor systems, processes and people performance from the moment you enter an airport until you de-board and exit at your final destination . Of course, I continue to look to leadership for both the exorbitant losses and the poorly performing systems, processes and people. Until today I would have been happy if United could simply fix their inability to connect my luggage with its next flight as I transit through Chicago each Friday night and find my bag does not, but today was the event that made me laugh the loudest so far and almost forget about my lost luggage. Admittedly, its only my fourth trip into the US this year so I’m sure there will be many more humorous events sad as they are, to come.

So if you will, please close your eyes for a moment and imagine my surprise as I stood in what I thought was the most practical of clothing to ease my efforts through security a few sundays ago: a jersey dress, no belt, no big jackets, the usual female underwear and a pair of winter tights……

“Madame please place your articles on the table” the young TSA (is that what they’re called in Canada?) employee requested. I complied raising my arms at both sides ready for my pat-down.
“That won’t be necessary” she said ever so softly. Oh, I thought, that’s a first. So I raised my foot behind me almost automatically steadying and ready for her to examine the soles of my shoes.
“That won’t be necessary” she once again said. The look on her face caused me to stop and await my instructions.

“Please raise your dress and place your hands into your pants and rub them around your waist then place them in front of you like this” she demonstrated holding her palms up on the table in front of her. Did I hear her correctly I thought as I looked more carefully into her eyes for confirmation that she was indeed serious. For a moment I wondered if this was in fact a new Reality TV Show or I was on a form of Candid Camera, but no, her expressionless face made it quite clear, she was waiting for me to once again comply.

As it registered to me that this was a serious request I couldn’t contain my surprise or my laugh. She was not amused. Here I stood alongside the several dozen other air travellers standing at tables with a two to one ratio of security to passenger, a man directly opposite me at the next table and one to my right, as well two women to my left, and I was being asked to raise my dress above my waist and put my hands into my tights and pants to provide her with evidence of the explosives I may have packed into my Marks & Spencers underwear, should there be any. Hmmm, I thought, might I have a profile that says I would wrap my buttocks in explosive underwear?? Perhaps, why else would I be in this situation. And so, what else can one do at this point, but comply.

There I stood, surrounded by people as I reefed up my dress to my midriff exposing not only my very practical winter nylons with the seams of the sewn in crotch they contained visible to all, but also my bare naked belly and the outline of my underwear, thighs, bottom and waist for all to see. I’m sure the man at the next table could spot the cellulite through my tights – clearly I’d not been complying with my exercise routine, damn it I now wish I had!

I guess it was at this point I wondered what country I was actually in, but more importantly, where were the full body scanners for surely they would make this experience less personal and certainly less exposing for me than the position I currently found myself in. All I needed now was the ever expectant pat down that if it were consistent with last week which thankfully it was not, would include a quick feel of my, well, read another of my blogs for that story, as they inspected my underwear up close to make doubly sure I was not wrapped in explosives. Incredible I thought, a brilliant way to start the work week, exposed! At this point, I also wondered what tales of the unexpected might my next journey bring given the slow but steady change in techniques I was now witness to each week.

And now back to the more serious. If your employees were travelling into the US  these past few weeks, stop to see how much earlier they left their homes and families, how long they queued waiting ever so expectantly for their personal pat down and whether their luggage arrived given all must be checked at this point leaving them with little but the clothes on their backs if the unfortunate happens and they fly United and find themselves going through Chicago. Try not to find too much humour in their journey, because for them, it could bring them closer to the exit row of your company if they simply don’t want the hassle anymore, the most common conversation overheard as they snack on their quota of four little in a two by two inch packet and a coke.

Fortunately, I enjoy the stories these moments create, stories I can tell over a glass of wine with fellow frequent flyers while exchanging the various frequent club cards – thank you George Clooney – where are you when I’m up in the air?