Okay. So there weren't seven suitcases.
There was a large green duffle bag that five people could have fit into.
And judging by its weight, there very well may have been five people in it.
There were two guitar cases.
There was an accordian case.
There were two 'missing' black carryon suitcases.
There was his walker/chair.
Is that seven? I was never very good at math.
No, we weren't at the airport. We were disembarking at Union Train Station in Denver.
It was apparent this old man needed help.
Enter. Stage Right. Hans and Kathy.
Our search began for the two, un-ID'd black carryon bags.
Do you know how many people travel with those?
E.V.E.R.Y.O.N.E.!
Hans proceeded to get back on the train and look for the two missing black bags.
At this point, the passengers who were going to board the train for Chicago began lining up with their black bags. Lots of them.
The Amtrak guy in charge in all his shining glory, who knew what the problem was, decided to let all the people start loading up.
I, in my nicest voice, (yes, I do have one), asked politely (yes, I can be polite), if he would just let my husband continue to look for the old man's two black carryon suitcases first.
It would be easier to locate them before all these other black carryon suitcases were loaded.
Nope. He would have nothing to do with that.
Him: We'll let all these people board. Then your husband can look for the bags.
Me: But wouldn't it be easier to locate them BEFORE all these other bags are loaded?
It was at this point you could see his position of authority come gleaming through as he looked down his nose at me from the train.
Him: Your husband can look for the bags after these people board.
Me "thinking" Okay asshole. We'll just hold up this train until we find those bags. Head 'em up. Move'em out. Not.
So, all those people loaded, with their black bags, further complicating the issue of finding the old man's black bags.
Hans kept pulling black bags off the train.
The old man would say, "Yes, that's mine." (There was no ID)
I, in my infinite wisdom doubted it was his bag.
So, we proceeded to open up FOUR different black carryon bags with NO ID.
Nope. None of them was his.
We have now caused quite a ruckus, and some very official Amtrak guy shows up and asks me what was going on.
I filled him in. Including what Mr. Authority up there had done to complicate things.
By now an announcement has been made that the train is late for departure.
You think?
I have learned that the old man is a Vietnam Marine Veteran !
He is a large man.
Probably 6+ feet and 200+ pounds, who has now decided to get back on the train to look for his bags.
I tried to dissuade him but to no avail.
He pushed his walker to the door and started to step up.
Yup. You guessed it. So did I.
I braced myself for his fall backwards.
And it happened.
We both went down, not on the concrete but inside the train.
Mr. Authority just stands there.
There was no way I could lift this man up. Besides, he's pretty much sitting on me.
Two young men rushed up and lifted him off me.
These are two people who you would never think might help in a situation like this.
Yes, I was being judgmental. I'm sorry. I'll never do that again.
All of this time Hans is somewhere on the train looking for the two black carryons.
We have successfully gotten the gentleman off the train and sitting in his walker/chair.
Hans is still on the train. Great. The train is going to pull out of the station with him on it.
He finally emerges with one more black carryon.
The gentleman assures us it's one of his. We rummaged through it.
It wasn't his.
Hans and I visit with the official-looking man to find out what needed to be done about the missing two black carryon bags, as the train pulled away with Mr. Authority on it.
We flagged down a cart, helped load the green duffle bag, two guitar cases, an accordian case, the VietNam veteran, and his walker/chair onto it.
He will report his two missing black carryon bags to the agent inside the train station and leave his contact information with them.
Hans and I conclude that someone who disembarked in Grand Junction mistakenly took his two black carryons.
We watched the gentleman as he is shuttled to inside the station.
Later that evening, Hans walks past the Amtrak counter.
The agent there asks, " Aren't you the guy who was a trying to help the old man find his two black carryons?"
Hans told him that he was.
The agent told him the two black carryons suitcases had been located.
Evidently, those two bags had been 'checked' at the counter in Salt Lake City where he had boarded.
The gentleman didn't realize where to go to pick them up.
He left the train station with his green duffle bag, two guitar cases, an accordian case, two black carryon suitcases, and his walker/chair to parts unknown.
There are several morals to this story:
1) Don't travel with black carryon suitcases with no ID.
2) If you don't want to be an hour late to whatever it is you're going to, don't try to help someone.
(Try living with that guilt.)
3) Resist the urge to deck someone who acts like an asshole, thus preventing a trip to jail.
4) Don't be judgmental.
5) Pay it forward. You'll be old someday and need help.
You can write your own morals.
