Humanity has come a long way.
We’ve put a man on the moon, found a cure for polio, and invented banoffee pie. But, for some godforsaken reason, we have not yet figured out how to properly use a luggage carousel.
[Ok, so trigger warning: anyone who finds crowds, inane behavior, or ends-of-holidays traumatic, look away now. Because this isn’t going to be pleasant.]
Yesterday, I flew back into Sydney from Hamilton Island, where I was swanning and sunning for their annual Race Week celebrations. Still spray-tanned, smiling, and sporting Birkenstocks; I was magically managing to cling onto my holiday glow despite landing back into chilly Sydney.
I survived a lost bag, I waited in the hour and a half line at the airport, I breezed through a frantic stopover in Brisbane, and I had even smiled all through the final leg of the journey with a farting man sitting next to me.
But my good mood ended abruptly as we reached the baggage carousel.
What is it about people and baggage carousels?
The system should be simple, and yet we somehow manage to take that molehill and blow it out into Everest during an electrical storm.
Here, try this on for size:
We step off our flight and down to the baggage collection area calmly and quietly. (Also, we managed to get through the entire flight without anyone farting.)