The Snag with the Bag

For the next few weeks, Jack Sh*t is chronicling his adventures on his recent trip to Italy as well as including tips to help you plan your own international travel. It is his special way of saying "Nanna nanna boo boo, I went to Italy!" to all his loyal readers.

Sometimes my wife Anita says the silliest things: “Are you sure that's your bag?”

We’re hustling down the walkway from the plane in Milan, Italy, and I refrain from calling her a “dumbass” long enough to more closely examine my luggage.

“See,” I tell her, unzipping the top pocket of the bag. “Here’s my iPad that’s… ummm… not my iPad.”

I can’t completely feel sorry for him, the dude who’s suitcase I left the country with, because I'm convinced that he’s the one who grabbed the wrong bag first and that I simply took the bag that was left.

We decide to leave the bag with “lost and found”, partly because it’s the right thing to do and partly because I don't want to have to explain to a customs agents why I have all that plastic explosive in my bag and spend the rest of my days rotting in an Italian prison.

Here's the thing: I'm in Italy with my beautiful wife. I've survived an endless flight and am on terra firma again. I hate losing my new bag, and I'm a little miffed about possibly never seeing my “ChattaVegas” t-shirt, but this doesn't bother me much.

We breeze through customs... actually “customs” seems to be three Italian guys yakking
at each other who simply nod as we pass, and we’re on our way.

Who wants to lug around a heavy bag anyway?