THE SAGA OF THE MISSING STICKS 
A Tale of Persistence…

I was traveling with my friend in Italy.  A dream trip celebrating my birthday to one of my bucket list destinations, Cinque Terre!   I spent many years preparing for this event fantasizing about hiking the beauty of the Italian coastline while tasting exquisite wine and consuming fantastic eats.

On the day of my birthday we hiked over 13 miles, up to the top of the national park full of tall dense trees, across ravines, through peoples private vineyards with grapes galore, and along ridges offering spectacular views of the sea.

 

My companion Kevin was wise and brought a walking stick to assist with the steep ascents.  I was resistant to that idea.  I definitely didn’t need any help!  I’m way to young and fit for that!  He offered to let me use his lovely carved bamboo stick.  I declined.  Persistent, he regularly reached it back to help me up the deep stone steps.  Sometimes I gave in.  Scanning the fallen tree limbs, he searched for my own perfect aide.  Then it appeared laying along the side of the path, a sturdy thick tall branch, that was both rugged in build, but curvy and pleasing to my aesthetic.  It became my close friend for the next 10 hours and next several days.

Once the bulk of the hiking was done, some wandering to towns and cities remained. But I was not ready to part with the beautiful stick that I had come to rely on.  Our two walking supports traveled the rest of the trip with us, on meanders around cities, tucked into corners of unreceptive museums, and eventually onto the plane back to the US.

By this point, I had a very deep emotional attachment to both of these 4 foot tall allies.  Mine because of the new wonderful memories formed, Kevin’s because it was given to him by his kids and it meant so much to him.

A little stick backstory, on Kevin’s first flight, as the research had suggested, there was no problem taking a walking stick on the plane.  But that was short lived, after that every airport required that it travel in over-sized baggage.  Because of this logistical snag, I ended up in care of both sticks upon arriving back in the US. 

I landed at busy and chaotic JFK, where I needed to re-check in to my next destination.  No problem…. New bag tag, friendly service, handed carefully wrapped oversized item off to baggage… on my way…

Now there are lots of stories of bags and other items getting lost.  I’ve had bags show up weeks after I did, wet, missing items, and sometimes not at all.  But, in those scenarios, that stuff that didn’t show up was just stuff.  Not a cherished item of a friend, given to him with love by his children.  So when the sticks did not arrive with me in Raleigh, I was distraught.  How could this happen!  At the last stop!  No way!  This is not happening!

It was late, almost midnight.  I pleaded with the customer service desk lady.  Spent an hour, put in a report, waited why she tried to get someone at JFK to actually pick up the phone.  No luck.  But she assured me that everything is tracked, and though things do get misplaced, very rarely do items get lost these days.

Slightly comforted, I went home.  But still truly distraught.  On the phone the next day there were more reassurances.  The stick was now noted as walking cane, a needed medical tool, and was elevated to ‘important.’  OK.   Headway.  More attempts to reach JFK.  “We will call you back in a few hours.”  No phone call…. I try again in the afternoon.  “Maam, we still haven’t been able to reach anyone at JFK to check on the status of it…but I’m sure it will turn up.  We have tracking numbers for everything.  Just let the process happen, and someone will be in touch with you.”

Hmm.  Not comforting.   I realized this phone business was not going to get me anywhere.  Fortunately I was passing through JFK in 3 days on my way to my next job and had a 4 hour layover.   A small grace in this process.  The only way I was going to find these sticks was to talk to people directly.

I did’t receive any calls or followup from the airlines in the next 3 days.  But I got on the plane to New York with a deep determination to leave that terminal with those sticks in my hand.  They could’t just disappear, but yet no one knew where they were or what happened to them. 

In the previous days I had not mentioned to Kevin the saga of the missing sticks.  I decided I would reveal the whole harrowing story once the conclusion was in my favor!

Landing at terminal 4, rolling out to baggage claim, I went straight to customer service.  The friendly gentleman said he sees my claim, but nothing has shown up.  I am persistent and say is there somewhere we can Look??  It was a skinny item, I show a picture.  Wrapped in clear cellophane (not the wisest choice)… so very easy to overlook. 

“Ok” he acquiesced.  “Let’s go look in the room.”  YES!  I think.  The room!  Forward progress.  We walk to a roped off corner of arrivals lined edge to edge with bags overflowing out of the official lost baggage room.  After scanning across the field of forsaken personal belongings, I walk towards the special ‘lost bag room.’ 

“Sorry ma’am” a hand goes up to stop me.  “Authorized personnel only.”  But..but.. “But I’m with him.  He’s looking for my medical walking cane.”  “Sorry, ma’am.  Off limits.  He’ll be right back.”

I’m not phased.  I know my sticks are here.  I’m going to find them.  I’m calling up all my lessons in life in not giving up.  Remember when I use to paddle canoe competitively, and they would say ‘be present in the moment’.  Just put the blade in the water and pull.  Focus on the moment.  Put the blade in the water and pull.  Keep going.  Put the blade in the water and pull.

The customer agent came out with the room attendant. “Sorry ma’am.  They are not here.”  The room attendant chimed in, with some level of unexpected irritation in her voice.  “We all know about your missing sticks.  They have been calling us from the airport in Raleigh.  We have looked everywhere.  Your sticks are not here.  Go home. When they turn up, we will call you.” 

Well I was a little surprised to hear that me and my sticks were so well talked about at the JFK terminal 4 lost baggage area.  I suddenly felt a weird sense of familiarity and family.  My efforts had reached people.   But yet no one had called me with any promised return updates. 

The agent started to walk back to his glass office.  I followed.  He stopped and turned.   “I can’t help you anymore.”  I continued to follow him to the desk.  He sighs, “Look, the tracking number on your item only shows it recorded at the moment it was tagged.  It doesn’t show any records after that.”

“What do you mean?”

He continues. “Our tracking system is sophisticated so we always know where items are in the process.  Once it’s checked, it’s scanned.  When it goes down the conveyer.  It’s scanned.   When it’s loaded its scanned.  There should be numerous scan points on the record.  But it was never scanned after it was checked in.  We don’t have it here.  Maybe you should check in with over sized baggage upstairs.”

YES!!  A lead. 

Here’s where I start getting all my exercise for the day.  Delta baggage is at the bottom at the east end of the building.  Delta check in and oversize hand off is at the top at the far west end of the building.  No Problem.  I got this.  These sticks are here.  I can feel it!!!

A familiar setting.  I’ve checked in numerous times here.  Ahh.. oversized baggage drop off.  I remember you well.  “Hi guys.”  Two men sit in the windows sizing me up.  The older gentlemen nods his head to me.  He’s in charge.  The young one offers a welcoming smile.

“Hi.   I’m looking for an item that I checked in here 4 days ago.  It never arrived at the airport I flew into that day.”

Man in charge tosses out with indifference, “We just put it onto the conveyor.”

“Yes, I say, but it never seemed to get to the airplane.”

“We don’t have anything to do with that. It goes down the belt then it’s up to the airline. You should check with lost baggage downstairs.”

“Well, sir, yes.  I’ve been there.  But they say that the tracking number shows that it never actually reached the airline.  It wasn’t scanned after it left this area.  It’s a skinny package.  Maybe it fell or got put to the side unnoticed?  Could you look around?”

Young man gently suggests “We could look it up in our records.  I think it goes back several days.”

Grumpy man, “No.  There’s nothing here.  Those records are only 24 hours.  You say it was several days ago.  We can’t help with that.  We would have put it on the conveyor then it’s out of our hands.   If it fell off somewhere, maybe you could get a technician to take a look.  But we don’t do that.  That’s up to the airline to ask for.  They can call a specialized person.”

AHA! Another lead. OK!   A specialized technician to check the path of the conveyor belt!  New Hope!  Off I go..  No longer a headache to the oversized workers.

Trucking it back to baggage, with a new level of excitement, I have more luck – a new agent is at the desk.  A young woman greets me with a kind smile.  I am apologetic beginning to feel like a nuisance – absolutely sure there are notes in my file about my harassing behavior…. I repeat the Saga of the Missing Sticks… I mean medical cane….  And launch into how it must be stuck in the conveyor.

“Oh no.”  She exclaims.  “That’s not possible.  Since 9/11, those belts are checked everyday.  They can’t leave any chances.  Sorry.”

Heart sinks.  What now?  I take a moment and look around. 

Put the blade in the water and pull.  Put the blade in the water and pull.

“Well if by chance something long and skinny was missed.  How would I get someone to look?  My package couldn’t just disappear.”

“Odd-sized baggage isn’t actually part of the airlines.  It’s handled by TSA.  We don’t have jurisdiction over that.  You would have to talk to TSA customer service.”

“Oh.  Well that’s new information.  Where is TSA customer service?”

“Try at security.”

Really???  They are really busy there….  But it’s the only thread of hope I have right now so I charge back upstairs.

There are lots of people in labeled shirts.  Oh, who to pick to talk to?  Who has a friendly face? First woman… not her department.. talk to that man over there.  Sigh… OK.

“Excuse me sir?  I’m trying to find TSA customer assistance.  Relating to a missing odd size bag.” 

He stares at me curiously.  “Well that’s a new one.  I don’t know.  Let me ask someone.” 

My hope is dripping away, down a path of resignation.  Suddenly remembering I have a flight I’m taking that day I check the time.  It’s been almost 3 hours.  I’m running out of time.  They are here.  I know it.  I will find them.

He returns.  “TSA odd sized bags have there own customer service.  You have to ask at the window.”

Oh great.  Not that window.  That guy had no interest in helping me.  Condescending in his tone, and apathetic in his actions, I knew he looked at me as a silly pain in his…

I thought of my friend.  His stick given to him by his kids.  How people say persistence does yield results.  That it doesn’t matter if I am annoying and what the guy in charge thinks of me.  The only thing that matters is getting my sticks.  Put the blade in the water and pull.

I walk around the corner back to the odd sized baggage window.  Time has passed.  The young guy is now in charge and there is a young woman working with him.

He greets me with that same warm smile.  “I was just telling Shelly about your missing sticks.  I’m sure they just got stuck somewhere.  Happens all the time.  Hey let me check our logs for you.  See if there’s any record.  I’m pretty sure they go longer than 24 hours.”

So helpful.  So wanting to be helpful.

“When did you leave it?  4 days ago.  Just missed.  It covers the last 3 days.”

“Oh well.  Thanks for checking.  So.. I’d like to talk to a supervisor.  I’m told it’s up to you guys to check the belt for me.”

Shelly.  “OK.  I’ll give him a call.”  She gets some more details.  I’m feeling that the saga is not going to end today.  Could it be that I’m going to leave without these sticks?  It can’t be.  It just can’t be.

She’s on the phone giving the details.  The young man eagerly continues his theories on how it’s probably stuck in the conveyer. 

“You know, I’m just gonna take a look.  See if I see anything.”   Pushing the button to stop the belt, he sticks his head into the machine looking down the chute. 

“Whoa!  Wait a minute.”

What???  My whole body fills with a crazy energy.  My heart pounding.

He climbs into the opening and within seconds my sticks poke out through the hole.

I howl with excitement and disbelief. 

I feel my own presence and turn around to see hundreds of people in the check-in lines starring at me.  “Sorry, sorry, I say.”  Mumbling some other nonsense.  Still in some kind of crazy disbelief, that somehow believing that I would find these sticks and asking people over and over again, actually did put the sticks back in my hand.

I stood there looking at what I had been chasing with every bit of positive energy I could muster up for 4 days, just stunned.  It happened. I got the sticks back. 

They had fallen between two layers of the belts.  They could have stayed there indefinitely.  Because no one but me would care enough to look hard for them. 

I wanted to run around to the dozen people I had talked to in celebration “I have them!  I found them!  They were here!”  But I was already late to get to my flight for work. 

Rushing, full of an extraordinary exhilaration.  I made all my flights and eventually the sticks made it to their proper homes.

Persistence has a new meaning to me after that.   It was an unexpected lesson from my birthday trip.  But a needed one.  As I now move forward in my life with new goals, rekindled dreams, and a pursuit down a different road, I know that persistence is my necessary travel companion.