Lost Luggage
February 1996
Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative.
Oscar Wilde
"Would you like your baggage checked through all the way to Ilheus, Brazil sir?" asked the
American Airlines Gate Agent in Minneapolis. Not really paying attention I said, "Yes."
I guess I’d been through the gate check-in procedure so many times that my brain was on automatic
pilot. But now, here I am, fourteen hours later in Sao Paulo, Brazil in a panic. I had arrived at ten
a.m. today (Sunday morning) in Sao Paulo and had six hours to kill in the Garurya Airport with
nothing to do except read, people watch and work on my presentation and workshop until my
connecting flight. The topic of my presentation was "Core Competencies and The Firm." I was
leading the Monday afternoon part of the annual manager’s retreat for an international business
management and geographic management team. The discussion would be very stimulating. No one
had ever done a geographic strategic plan in Latin America for this company and this was the first
step in that direction.
It was now thirty minutes until the departure of my Varig flight north to Ilheus. Twenty-five
minutes ago I had awakened from a short snooze realizing that the funny feeling I had in the
Minneapolis Airport when I affirmed the agent’s question about checking my bags through to
Ilheus should have been taken seriously. Had they checked my bags through to my final
destination or were the here? I couldn’t remember. If they were here somewhere in the airport then
I needed to find them and recheck them as fast as I could or I would have only a pair of jeans, a
golf shirt and running shoes as my clothing for a week on a white-beached island off the coast of
northern Brazil in February.
I was returning for the third time from the international to the domestic side of the airport terminal,
totally frustrated. Luckily the international and domestic airport in Sao Paulo are on opposite sides
of the oblong building, unlike many of the other airports around the world where they can be miles
apart. I had this funny feeling that the gate agent in Minneapolis was wrong and couldn’t check the
bags all the way through. They need to be claimed here. Or did they? I searched the airport for the
American Airlines Information Office to see where my bags were. I found it located at the top of
the stairs on the domestic side of the concourse. The gentleman behind the desk there told me to go
down the stairs, across the concourse, past the taxi desk and through the glass doors to the
American Airlines Baggage Office which would be through the second door on the left. I could
find out about my luggage there. I had made the run twice and was sweaty, frustrated and anxious.
© John Mirocha & Associates, Inc.
On the first trip, I followed his directions exactly. When I went through the glass doors I was in a
parking lot on the back side of the airport. Looking around I saw no doors, just cars, asphalt and
palm trees.
I had just retraced my steps on the second trip, figuring I had rushed and missed something in his
directions. Once again I entered the Information Office through its glass door and approached the
same American Airlines employee. I asked him the same question as before. He looked at me like
I was a defunct individual and said, a little impatiently, "Sir, down the stairs, past the taxi counter,
through the double glass doors, second door on the left." Then he returned to his work. So I ran
down the stairs, past the taxi desk, through the double glass doors, into the parking lot and stopped
because once again, there was no baggage office there. Then I thought to myself, "Between my
lousy Portuguese and his pretty good English, there must have been a communication problem." I
walked back to the AA Information Office but couldn’t go in. I decided to take one more look for
myself. As I approached the glass doors to the parking lot, I saw two wooden doors to my left.
"Ah," I thought. “My problems are solved. He must have meant wood when he said glass!" Feeling
somewhat relieved and confident, I approached the double wooden doors. I noticed a sign on one
door which said "Restricted Area." Under normal conditions I would never enter a restricted area.
But, these were no longer normal circumstances. I opened the doors and walked into a typically
Brazilian, dimly lit hallway with pale green tile floor and grayish yellow walls. I walked cautiously
down the hallway. Upon coming to the second door on my right, I turned the knob only to realize
that the door was locked. I knocked repeatedly as this door corresponded to where I thought the
second door on the left would be from the outside of the building. No one answered. Feeling
disturbed and annoyed I explored the further reaches of the corridor only to find a custodian’s
closet and an employee break room. There were other doors and other knocks, but no answers. I
felt alone and defeated.
"I must stop and collect myself," I thought. "What should I do next?" I have never been
comfortable with defeat. Suddenly my momentary depression and reflective process ended. I turned
angry. My adrenaline surged and I became almost frantic as I realized the nearing of my departure
time. I have learned over the years to be aware when this surge of anger happens. Unchecked it had
and could again make things worse, not better. So, I took another moment to breathe, relax and
think. I closed my eyes to hasten the process. Then, I opened my eyes and sprinted back to the
airline information office in the domestic terminal for one, last attempt to find out about my
luggage. As I approached the now familiar office, desk and employee, obviously out of breath, the
gentleman looked up as I opened the door and queried, "Sir, your baggage is found?" To which I
said, "No." I added, "I think we have mis-communicated. Would you be kind enough to
accompany me to find the Baggage Office? I cannot find it on my own. I have followed your
instructions but to no avail." "But sir," he said. "It is easy... Down the stairs, past the..."
At that point I looked him directly in the eye and said, "You must take me there now. I cannot find
it on my own." He rolled his eyes, grabbed his keys, walked through his doorway, locked his office
door and said sternly, "Follow me!"
As we walked briskly down the terminal stairs he said, "Sir, down the stairs." As we passed the
taxi desk he pointed to the taxi desk and said, "Past the taxi desk." As we went through the glass
doors he said, "Through the glass doors." Then we walked into the parking lot, but we did not stop.
© John Mirocha & Associates, Inc.
We kept walking about 30 more feet. There we found a door labeled "American Airlines Baggage
Office." He motioned to the door and said, "Second door on the left. Sir, you can inquire about your
luggage here." Then he threw up his arms in disbelief and said, "Idiot American!" and walked
away, seemingly disgusted.
Opening the door, I found my suitcase and over-the-shoulder bag sitting on the counter. I walked
in and said to the lady who was managing the desk, "These are my bags." She said, "Sign here for
them." I did and began the mad dash back to the Domestic Terminal to my Varig flight. I arrived
five minutes before my departure and was greeted by my friends, Brian, Jay and Hugo.
If only it ended there. More about the two and one half hour bus ride with the broken air
conditioner, the transmission problems, the pontoon ride to the island, and the Frugal Gourmet
later.
Lessons Learned:
1. Always pay attention to the funny feeling inside, especially when you are tired or on automatic.
2. Don’t assume that the other person mis-communicated with you.
3. Don’t assume that the baggage office should be accessible from the inside of the terminal.
That’s how it would happen in Minneapolis. But Minneapolis is not the center of the Universe.
4. Reflect before acting, especially when you feel yourself entering the panic zone.
5. Look at yourself in the mirror and have a hearty laugh.
6. Never take yourself too seriously.
© John Mirocha & Associates, Inc.