After a grand total of three phone calls totaling an aggregate of three hours and twenty-five minutes and one very strongly worded email, I have to go to the airport to retrieve my bag. The reason? An impatient gate attendant advising me that my bag - already on its way to New York on a prior flight - would be delivered to me but failing to tell me that I needed to fill out some paperwork that can only be completed in the airport. If I had only filled out some simple form I would have already been reunited with my bag. Instead, after two people in India telling me my bag would be sent to me COD, I learn the only possible way for me to retrieve my red suitcase is to go to the airport.
Rest assured a lengthy, painstakingly detailed letter will be mailed (not faxed or emailed as I was advised those do not get reviewed for some reason) to Delta describing the whole debacle. Just wish me luck that when I arrive at the airport, they will be able to locate my bag.
On a different note, after I received the discouraging news that I needed to go to the airport, my friend AS IM'd me that she wants a chocolate chip cookie. I quickly agreed I could use one myself. So we decided to snoop around the conference room floor for leftover post-meeting goodies that hadn't been cleaned up yet.
We have never done this before but the conference room catering cookies are really good so I agreed.
After checking out a couple of rooms with open doors and attempting to linger long enough to wait out a meeting that appeared to just be ending, we became discouraged. After one seemingly promising failure I became emboldened by our quest for a cookie. The lights were out in the next conference room so I peeked through the crack in the door and then swung it open. On the marble countertop along the wall catering had arranged a full buffet of sandwiches, fruit and the desired cookie tray.
We stood staring at the vast array and I said, "But no one has opened them yet."
To which AS hastily replied "It doesn't matter. . . you watch the door!" as she noisily pulled at the plastic covering. I gave in and helped her pull the top off and we each grabbed a cookie from the neatly arranged ring, pushed the top back on the tray and suppressed giggles as we each held our stolen cookie behind our backs and darted back into the elevator bank.
Once in the elevator we burst out laughing and relished each nibble of the illicit treat.
After finishing the cookie and returning to my desk, an IM message blinked on my screen and AS said "we should have stolen the whole tray"!
The moral of the story? A good cookie can cure anything.