Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Surprise in my work bag

I have a bunch of bags that I use for work. I have a Kate Spade tote, two Coach handbags, two Tokidoki for LeSportsac messenger bags, among others. But for some reason, lately, I've been using a cheap gray and black Old Navy houndstooth messenger bag. I think I've been using it nonstop since before Christmas, which is unlike me, since I usually change bags every other week or so.

I took the bag with me to Florida last week, and then to Chicago and Wisconsin this weekend, using it as my "personal item." When I got home last night, the bag smelled faintly peculiar, like rubbing alcohol or some cosmetic item had spilled in it. The smell got worse today, but for the longest time, I couldn't figure out what it was. Nothing had spilled; everything was in place. As the day progressed, the odor kept getting stronger, and I noticed that the contents of my bag looked peculiarly dusty.

I decided to take everything out of the bag for inspection. And then I saw it. Mushed into a corner of the bag was an orange -- or what used to be an orange. At this point, it was flat, dried out, and covered in a light green mold. I tried to get it out of the bag, but could only get part of it loose.

The bag is now in the garbage. And, in retrospect, I am so glad that this was not one of my more expensive handbags. But from now on, I'm either changing or cleaning out my bag every week.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Favorite Jeans

Originally, I was only supposed to be in Florida for a day and a half -- Friday night until Sunday morning. But, on Thursday morning, when I realized that the snow was coming, I changed my plans to leave that afternoon. I ran from work to my condo, threw some stuff in a suitcase, and raced to the airport. I forgot pajamas, but I did manage to remember to pack a few t-shirts, a pair of flip-flops, and my favorite jeans.

The jeans are my favorite jeans, but by no means do they fit me. They are at least three sizes too big; I can put them on and take them off without opening the button. Basically, they are denim sweatpants.

Saturday night, I found out that my flight home was canceled. Sunday morning, I ran to the grocery store with my dad, wearing the jeans and a very large Florida Law t-shirt that I had given him during my first year of law school. When I got back to the house, I walked past a full-length mirror and caught my reflection. I yelled, something to the effect of "Dad, why the hell did you let me go out of the house looking like this?"

He shrugged his shoulders and said that I looked okay in his opinion. But when pressed, he did say that I looked like I was twelve.

On Tuesday, I finally got to fly home. The security lines at Palm Beach International were very long, but I travel enough that I have it down to a science.

Or so I thought.

I remembered to take my liquids out of my bag. I remembered to take off my shoes. I remembered to take everything out of my pockets. My luggage did not set off any alarms. I did not set off any alarms. Still, I got selected for a pat-down. The TSA agent was very kind about it, and let me know that my baggy clothing was the reason. Apparently, people hide all sorts of things in baggy clothing.

My favorite jeans are now retired. I'm going to have to start wearing pants that fit me. For security reasons.