The Case of the Disappearing Case

Un version de ce texte est également disponible en français. Before or afterwards?

I’m through Customs and Passports and on my way to my final destination. I walk out of the lift and realize I’ve left my suitcase behind. I turn round to get it but the lift doors have already closed and the lift has gone. I freeze as the sense of emptiness sets in. The lift has gone, my bag in it. I’m bagless and liftless. Where has it gone, I wonder? Where have they both gone?

I ask a member of staff. Go up a floor and ask for security, sir. Obediently, I get in the next lift. I go up. Doors open. I see a staff person and head purposefully towards them. Excuse me, I left my bag in the lift and need to get it back. Yes sir. Which lift did you use? I look behind me at the lift and suddenly realize there are four of them. Four lifts. Maybe the first or the second. But which one? The second? Yes, the second, definitely. Well sir, the lift can only go up or down. Have you checked the other floors? How would I do that? Well, by going to each floor to see if somebody took it out for the case to be dealt with.

I can’t accept that as an answer, and I insist. Where would they take it if they found it in the lift? I mean, what would happen to it? It would go to Lost and Found. OK, where’s that? Somewhere in the terminal … I should be able to tell you that, but I only started this morning. Oh dear. That is bad news. I can feel my case slipping through my fingers. Who can tell me? You need security. I do. Where would I find that? There’s plenty of security here, sir. This is Heathrow Airport, after all. I don’t like the tone of this remark, but I decide to keep to basics here. How will I recognize security? They’re all dressed in black with Security written on their chests in white letters.

Off I go in search of security. I ask the first person I see answering the description. She wants to know why I need security. I explain that I have just arrived on a flight from Toulouse and I inadvertently left my case in a lift and need to find it. It’s a grey cabin suitcase with wheels and a yellow name tag. Have you checked with the lifts? Yes, I have. I also asked staff and had a good look around. You need Lost and Found. I don’t have time to ask where I can find Lost and Found because she hasn’t finished what she is saying. Only they won’t have received it yet because you’ve only just lost it. But go and check anyway. This person sounds so competent I can’t hold back. Where exactly is Lost and Found? She knows. I’m sure she knows. She does. Go to the end of the corridor and it’s by the stairs just after that green sign you can see.

At Lost and Found I find myself elated but strangely alone in this busy airport terminal, surrounded by luggage, none of which is mine. I can hear voices coming from a backroom but there’s no bell to ring for attention. After what seems like a long wait, a man emerges at the counter and asks how he can help. I am taking a deep breath and preparing to tell my story once more when, behind me, the door opens. It’s the security lady. Sir, I think I’ve cracked your case. She takes me back to the lift area and there is my lost case. Against a wall with an invisible security permiter of 20 metres around it. You are an angel. Thank you. Can I give you a hug? Of course, sir. Now that’s what I call security.