“With you,” Nate said.
“With me? Couldn’t be.”
“Then who?” Nate stared a beat, not sure how they’d gone from discussing his missing luggage to performingWho Stole the Cookie from the Cookie Jar?.“What’s your name?” he asked, hoping to restart this whole conversation on a different foot.
Her eyes narrowed like she thought he was trying to trap her into releasing valuable information. Like the location of his missing carry-on. “Sir, let me be very clear. I am not here to make friends. I am here to do my job. And if you have a problem with that—”
“Hey, now.” Nate lifted his hands. “I don’t have a problem with that.”
“Then why do you want to speak to my supervisor?”
“I never asked to speak to your supervisor.”
“Sir, this airport may be new, but I assure you that I have been around the block several times. If a customer wants my name, that can only mean one of two things. He’s trying to be pals so he can get some sort of special airline treatment from me, or he wants to speak to my supervisor to get me fired. Now which is it?”
Nate was still holding his hands up in surrender. “Ma’am, I am merely trying to find my luggage.”
“Then hand over your baggage claim slip.” She held out her hand.
“I don’t have one.”
She closed her eyes and whispered, “Help me, Jesus.” At least that’s what he assumed she whispered. He still couldn’t hear much over the construction noise.
“When I boarded my flight out of Omaha, Nebraska, the flight attendant told me that due to limited space, I needed to check in my carry-on with her.”
“So you did have a check-in bag.” She tapped her nails on the counter.
“But I didn’t check it in.”
“How are we supposed to find a check-in bag if you never checked it in?”
“Because it wasn’t a check-in bag.”
“Then what was it?”
“A carry-on.”
“Well, why didn’t you carry it off?”
“Because the flight attendant said I’d get it back at the end of the flight. But at the end of the flight she told me I’d need to go to the conveyor belt with the rest of the check-in luggage. But when I went there, it wasn’t there.”
“Well, of course it wasn’t there. That’s for check-in bags.”
“Is there a problem?” a short and skinny middle-aged man wearing a TSA security uniform asked.
“He lost his luggage,” said Ms. Hi-I’m-not-really-trying-all-that-hard.
“I didn’t lose anything,” Nate said.
“Then why are you harassing Vivi at the baggage claim desk?” said the TSA security officer.
“So that’s your name? Vivi? That’s a nice name, Vivi. I like it.”
“We don’t appreciate sarcasm, sir,” said Mr. Security. “Or shouting.”
“I’m not—” Nate took a breath and started again. “I’m here because the airport has lost my luggage.”
“Everybody just loves pointing the finger,” Vivi said.
