by Sarah Knight
WHAT’S YOUR REALISTIC IDEAL OUTCOME?
Before you wasted all that time, energy, money, and goodwill tarnishing both your shirt and your reputation, your RIO would have been to get to the hotel, plug in at the Business Center, put out a few feelers on the stuff you need to replace, and wind down with some Will Ferrell on Pay-Per-View. However, realistically the best you can hope for now is to not get fired for conduct unbecoming a regional sales manager, and (if you’re even still invited to the banquet) scoring a rental tux that doesn’t smell like cheese.
Go here.
Dealing with it when you are FREAKING THE FUCK OUT (via AVOIDANCE)
I’m afraid that the end result of succumbing to Ostrich Mode is that you NEVER, EVER DEAL WITH IT. Sorry, game over. Better luck next time.
However, if you decide to change your mind and take my advice to calm the fuck down before you try to deal with shit in the future, I recommend turning to here or 264.
I also recommend reading this book over again, cover to cover, because—and I say this with love—I don’t think you were paying attention the first time through.
To choose a different adventure, go here.
Or, skip ahead to the Epilogue here.
TrekFest
RIO #1: Assuming your bags won’t show up of their own volition, you want to make as many inquiries as you can, then get a good night’s sleep and muster the will to carry on in the morning.
TRIAGE AND TACKLE:
The most urgent element is to get through to a human being at the airline—ideally one in each of your departure and arrival cities—to lodge your complaint and ask if there are any other human beings who might be able to track down your bags and find a way to get them to you. It would be much better to be reunited with your custom Spock ears than to have to canvass Kansas City for a new pair.
If your phone battery is low, move “buy a new phone charger” up in the queue. If you’re still at the airport, this should be easy. If you didn’t manage to calm the fuck down until you were already outta there, that’s okay—just ask your taxi driver to reroute to the nearest Target or comparable store and pay them to wait fifteen minutes while you perform a one-person version of Supermarket Sweep, grabbing the bare essentials off the shelves.
If you’re driving a rental car or got picked up by a friend, this step is even easier. You’ll have a bit more time and may be able to replace a few other lost items there too—as much as your energy and money FFs allow. Plus your hotel probably has complimentary toiletries; for now, get the stuff that’s only available in-store.
And if the only nearby shop is a gas station 7-Eleven, give it a shot—the teenage cashier is almost certainly charging their phone behind the counter and might be willing to sell you their cord at a markup. (If they sell Snickers bars, buy yourself a Snickers bar. You need it.)
AND THERE YOU HAVE IT!
Shit happened, but you calmed the fuck down, took stock of the situation, determined your realistic ideal outcome, and triaged the elements—and in doing so, set yourself up for the best-case scenario in this worst-case suitcase debacle. Winner, winner, Kansas City BBQ dinner.
To choose a different adventure, go here.
Or, skip ahead to the Epilogue here.
Rashida’s Birthday Bash
RIO #1: Assuming your bags won’t show up of their own volition, you want to make as many inquiries as you can, then get a good night’s sleep and muster the will to carry on tomorrow.
TRIAGE AND TACKLE:
The most urgent element is to get through to a human being at the airline—ideally one in each of your departure and arrival cities—to lodge your complaint and ask if there are any other human beings who might be able to track down your bags and find a way to get them to you. Life will be a LOT easier if Rashida never has to know how close you came to ruining her birthday photo op.
If your phone battery is low, move “buy a new phone charger” up in the queue. If you’re still at the airport, this should be easy. If you didn’t manage to calm the fuck down until you were already outta there, that’s okay—just ask your taxi driver to reroute to the nearest Target or comparable store and pay them to wait fifteen minutes while you perform a one-person version of Supermarket Sweep, grabbing the bare essentials off the shelves.
If you’re driving a rental car or got picked up by a friend, this step is even easier. You’ll have a bit more time and may be able to replace a few other lost items there too—as much as your energy and money FFs allow. Plus, your hotel probably has complimentary toiletries; for now, get the stuff that’s only available in-store.
And if the only nearby shop is a gas station 7-Eleven, give it a shot—the teenage cashier is almost certainly charging their phone behind the counter and might be willing to sell you their cord at a markup. (If they sell Snickers bars, buy yourself a Snickers bar. You need it.)
AND THERE YOU HAVE IT!
Shit happened, but you calmed the fuck down, took stock of the situation, determined your realistic ideal outcome, and triaged the elements—and in doing so, set yourself up for the best-case scenario in this worst-case suitcase debacle. Winner, winner, Cuba libres with dinner.
To choose a different adventure, go here.
Or, skip ahead to the Epilogue here.
The Business Trip
RIO #1: Assuming your bags won’t show up of their own volition, you want to make as many inquiries as you can, then get a good night’s sleep and muster the will to carry on tomorrow.
TRIAGE AND TACKLE:
The most urgent element is to get through to a human being at the airline—ideally in each of your departure and arrival cities—to lodge your complaint and ask if there are any other human beings who might be able to track down your shit and get it delivered to you.
If your phone battery is low, move “buy a new phone charger” up in the queue. If you’re still at the airport, this should be easy. If you didn’t manage to calm the fuck down until you were already outta there, that’s okay—just ask your taxi driver to reroute to the nearest Target or comparable store and pay them to wait fifteen minutes while you perform a one-person version of Supermarket Sweep, grabbing the bare essentials off the shelves.
(PSA: Don’t forget underwear—if you end up having to wear a rented tux, you have no idea whose crotch has rubbed up inside that thing.)
If you’re driving a rental car, this step is even easier. You’ll have a bit more time and may be able to replace a few other lost items there too—as much as your energy and money FFs allow. Plus, your hotel probably has complimentary toiletries; for now, get the stuff that’s only available in-store.
Finally, use your recharged phone to call your wife and ask her if she knows your jacket size, because you sure don’t.
AND THERE YOU HAVE IT!
Shit happened, but you calmed the fuck down, took stock of the situation, determined your realistic ideal outcome, and triaged the elements—and in doing so, set yourself up for the best-case scenario in this worst-case suitcase debacle. Winner, winner, room service dinner.
To choose a different adventure, go here.
Or, skip ahead to the Epilogue here.
Northeastern Regionals
RIO #1: Assuming your bags won’t show up of their own volition, you want to make as many inquiries as you can, then get a good night’s sleep and muster the will to carry on in the morning.
TRIAGE AND TACKLE:
The most urgent element is to get through to a human being at the airline—ideally one in each of your departure and arrival cities—to lodge your complaint and ask if there are any other human beings who might be able to track down your bags and get them to you.
If your phone battery is low, move “buy a new phone charger” up in the queue. If you’re still at the airport, this should be easy. If you didn’t manage to calm the fuck down until you were already outta there, that’s okay—just ask your taxi driver to reroute to the nearest Target or comparable store and pay them to wait fif
teen minutes while you perform a one-person version of Supermarket Sweep, grabbing the bare essentials off the shelves.
If you’re driving a rental car or got picked up by a friend, this step is even easier. You’ll have a bit more time and may be able to replace a few other lost items there too—as much as your energy and money FFs allow. I wouldn’t count on the Econo Lodge having complimentary toiletries, so don’t forget the toothpaste and deodorant.
And, rural though it may be, if this town is hosting the Northeastern Regionals, they probably have a decent bowling shoe store. Google it now and hoof it over there first thing tomorrow. (And make sure you pick up clean socks at Target; you don’t need to add athlete’s foot to your list of shit to deal with.)
AND THERE YOU HAVE IT!
Shit happened, but you calmed the fuck down, took stock of the situation, determined your realistic ideal outcome, and triaged the elements—and in doing so, set yourself up for the best-case scenario in this worst-case suitcase debacle. Winner, winner, cheesesteak dinner.
To choose a different adventure, go here.
Or, skip ahead to the Epilogue here.
TrekFest
RIO #2: The specialty items must be replaced ASAP; your whole trip is meaningless without them.
TRIAGE AND TACKLE:
You have zero faith in the airline to straighten this out in a timely fashion, so rather than waste precious hours (and battery life) on the horn to Customer Service, you make a list of the most urgent, replaceable items in your suitcase and a plan to acquire them.
For example:
Chargers first—Good luck finding your way around without the official convention app. You’ll be drifting through Bartle Hall like one of Wesley Crusher’s neutrinos.
Spock ears—Your best bet is probably to hop on the TrekFest Slack channel and ask if anyone brought spares (for which you still need internet connectivity, hence a charged phone/laptop).
Febreze—Luckily, you wore your Federation blues on the plane, but they could use a little freshening up before you put them on again tomorrow.
Too bad about your favorite pj’s and that cat pic, but you can sleep naked, and now that your phone is charged, you can FaceTime the cat-sitter to say hi to Chairman Meow when you wake up tomorrow. Just keep the sheets pulled up tight; the Chairman doesn’t need to see all that.
CONGRATS!
Shit happened, but you calmed the fuck down, took stock of the situation, determined your realistic ideal outcome, and triaged the elements—and in doing so, set yourself up for the best-case scenario in this worst-case suitcase debacle. Live long and prosper.
To choose a different adventure, go here.
Or, skip ahead to the Epilogue here.
Rashida’s Birthday Bash
RIO #2: The specialty items must be replaced ASAP; your whole trip is meaningless without them.
TRIAGE AND TACKLE:
You have zero faith in the airline to straighten this out in a timely fashion, so rather than waste precious hours (and battery life) on the horn to Customer Service, you make a list of the most urgent, replaceable items in your suitcase and a plan to acquire them. For example:
Chargers first—This whole debacle basically exists to be chronicled on Instagram Stories.
Rashida’s birthday gift—You’re already going to be in trouble for misplacing your party T-shirt; they’re all going to think you made up the whole “lost luggage” story just to get out of wearing it—which, come to think of it… Well, anyway, you CANNOT show up empty-handed. The Je Joue Mio was for her, by the way, so that’s one more reason to get your smartphone up and running—you’ll need to find the closest sex shop and summon a Lyft to get you there.
Next stop: the mall—At a bare minimum, you need a party dress and a pair of shoes; the Uggs you wore on the flight won’t cut it. Depending on how much those and the replacement gift run you, you might try to pick up a cheap bikini and a sundress to get you through the weekend. The hotel will have toiletries, but don’t forget to buy sunscreen. Skin care is important.
It’s too bad about your pj’s; that twenty-four-year-old shirt was the longest, most faithful relationship you’ve had. Oh well, with your new dress and attitude adjustment, maybe you’ll meet another twenty-four-year-old this weekend who can take your mind off it.
CONGRATS!
Shit happened, but you calmed the fuck down, took stock of the situation, determined your realistic ideal outcome, and triaged the elements—and in doing so, set yourself up for the best-case scenario in this worst-case suitcase debacle. Margaritas on me!
To choose a different adventure, go here.
Or, skip ahead to the Epilogue here.
The Business Trip
RIO #2: The specialty items must be replaced ASAP; your whole trip is meaningless without them.
You have zero faith in the airline to straighten this out in a timely fashion, so rather than waste precious hours (and battery life) on the horn to Customer Service, you make a list of the most urgent, replaceable items in your suitcase and a plan to acquire them. For example:
Chargers first—It’s not just your phone; your laptop cord was in that suitcase too, and if you don’t get up and running soon, your boss will see to it that you get the business end of this business trip.
Specialty item #1—If you can’t find a replacement ugly Lucite statue thingy, what are you going to stare at on Helen’s desk during your extremely awkward exit interview?
Specialty item #2—Assuming you manage to source the award, you’re going to have to bring it with you to the black-tie dinner in Ballroom A, for which you need a temporary tuxedo and all the trimmings.
Sadly, the awesome martini-glasses bow tie and olive cuff links you packed are MIA, so you’ll have to make do with standard-issue rentals. On the bright side, this will make it easier to blend into the crowd while you drown your lost-suitcase sorrows in unlimited shrimp cocktail.
CONGRATS!
Shit happened, but you calmed the fuck down, took stock of the situation, determined your realistic ideal outcome, and triaged the elements—and in doing so, set yourself up for the best-case scenario in this worst-case suitcase debacle. Helen from HR would be proud.
To choose a different adventure, go here.
Or, skip ahead to the Epilogue here.
Northeastern Regionals
RIO #2: The specialty items must be replaced ASAP; your whole trip is meaningless without them.
TRIAGE AND TACKLE:
You have zero faith in the airline to straighten this out in a timely fashion, so—newly invigorated—and rather than waste precious hours (and battery life) on the horn to Customer Service, you make a list of the most urgent, replaceable items in your suitcase and a plan to acquire them.
For example:
Chargers first—You’ll be even more helpless trying to navigate rural Pennsylvania without Google Maps.
Bowling shoes—You’re unlikely to find another pair as loyal and lucky as the ones you packed, but it’s against league rules to bowl barefoot, and you’re not leaving your fate as the Hook Ball King to a set of rentals.
The team mascot—“Strike” the taxidermied rattlesnake joins you at every road tournament, and it was your turn to pack her. (Come to think of it, it’s possible your bag has been confiscated by airport authorities for this very reason.) To be honest, you’re unlikely to solve this problem—but at least you’re no longer trying to pretend it never happened. Strike deserves better than that.
You’re still down your favorite pj’s, but if you win this weekend, the prize money will more than cover a new set of Dude-inspired sleepwear.
CONGRATS!
Shit happened, but you calmed the fuck down, took stock of the situation, determined your realistic ideal outcome, and triaged the elements—and in doing so, set yourself up for the best-case scenario in this worst-case suitcase debacle. Doesn’t it feel good to abide?
To choose a different adventure, go here.
Or,
skip ahead to the Epilogue here.
TrekFest
RIO #3: Silly Putty and Super Glue
Neither desperation nor silicone polymers are a good look for anyone. It may be time to admit defeat, cede your emcee duties to Cory from Indianapolis, and focus your dwindling freakout funds on getting a good night’s sleep. If nothing else, you want to be well rested for the Holodeck Hoedown on Sunday.
Oh, and if you decide you want to take my advice and calm the fuck down before you try to deal with shit next time, please feel free to revert to here or here.
As a wise Vulcan once said, change is the essential process of all existence.
To choose a different adventure, go here.
Or, skip ahead to the Epilogue here.
You picked
I know, this is a real blow—especially after you just spent two hours watching Lion on the plane. People might think you’re sobbing at baggage claim because of that final scene, but really it’s because tears are your go-to reaction when shit happens. It’s cool. We all have our tells; some of them are just more mucusy than others.