OPINION: Why letting out your pants is better than taking a flight home from Florida

No one has to know you can’t fit into your pants anymore. Right? The cleaners or your tailor can let them out an inch or maybe two, right?

They always leave a bit of extra fabric in the back seam. Don’t they? Yes, they do.

Now. Let’s say it’s just after New Year’s — you want to get home to Albuquerque from Florida.

Let’s say there’s a driving rainstorm there. You get to the airport with soaking wet luggage. You tell your wife she doesn’t need her overnight bag with her on the plane, it’s all wet, and we’ll be back home before you know it.

Rookie mistake — it’s like you’ve never been married.

The flight to Dallas is delayed, the planes are stuck in Atlanta because of snow.

“Snow? In Atlanta? Really?”

Somehow your luggage manages to get on an airplane without you. But it seems the crews are also stuck somewhere else, because of the weather.

“Where?” you ask.

You get no response. If the airline people know where, they’re not telling.

Your wife, now deeply concerned, reminds you that you could miss your connection in Dallas.

You reassure her everything’s just fine. You’ve got this.

But you don’t have it.

And she isn’t reassured.

Let’s say you do get to Dallas. Your connecting 4 o’clock flight to Albuquerque is delayed and nobody seems to know why.

Could be snow.

Could be driving rain.

Could be a missing crew.

Some passengers quickly peel off the line.

Your wife suggests you do the same.

“No. They’re quitters — we’ll get a flight out today, don’t you worry.”

She worries.

You press on, there’s a 6 o’clock. You check, it’s delayed — snow.

OK. There’s a 7-30. Delayed — no crew.

Fine! There’s always the 9 o’clock.

You see the agent. The 9 o’clock has just been cancelled. Again, nobody seems to know why.

You’re stuck for the night. You can feel your wife’s laser-like stare boring into the back of your head. You call your mother-in-law — she’s got the kids for one more night.

A steamy, crammed bus takes you to the hotel for stranded passengers.

There are no more rooms available — all taken by the travelers who were smart enough to get rooms the minute the 6 o’clock was marked delayed.

Another rookie mistake.

There’s one room left in the spillover motel — not as nice, but the sheets are clean. The sheets are a hundred years old but they’re clean.

You grab it.

You have a room, a splitting headache, no aspirin, no luggage, no overnight bag, no makeup, no prescription medicine, no toothbrush.

The next morning, you have the same clothes, no makeup, dirty teeth, a rotten breakfast, and a very upset wife.

At least it can’t get any worse.

Back in Albuquerque, your luggage has been transferred to a warehouse.

Across the airport.

So, it can get worse.

You call your mother-in-law. “Tell the kids we’ll be a little later.”

In the warehouse, you see row upon row of luggage. All on the floor, in no particular order, with no flight numbers.

Hundreds of bags.

Lost people wandering, zombie like, up and down the unmarked rows.

It takes you 5 minutes to find the first bag. “Yea!”

Half an hour to find the next bag.

And an hour and a half to find the last one.

Finally, in the parking garage, you wander around looking for your car. After searching for an hour, you find it. Then you can’t find your keys.

And that’s why letting out your pants is better than taking a flight home from Florida.

Ross Van Dusen is an Albuquerque author, illustrator and painter.