SB informed me that he was going to a trade show in Paris for a little over a week. This was not a great shock, as I had been hearing bits and pieces of his plans as he was making them, even if he never quite got around to telling me when he was going. Well, he left on Friday and boy does he know how to make one heck of an exit...once he got around to informing me of said exit.
So on Thursday he said that he was leaving on Friday. It was late Thursday, around 11pm to be precise. This was promptly followed by a poorly disguised attempt to convince me to pack for him while acting like he was just asking for advice on what to pack. We spent an hour sorting out "military-trade show-salesman-reputable businessman" wear, and then weeded out the clothing with missing buttons and threadbare crotches. Didn't we buy him four pairs of pants and several shirts two months ago? Ah, but those were all in the mountain of laundry that he never got around to laundering. At about 1 am I protested that I had an 8:30 meeting and crawled off to bed. I could hear him flailing around for a few more minutes before he crawled into bed and made me promise to help pack before his flight. Then he flattened me against the wall and snored away.
On Friday evening he asked me to meet him by the printer's shop after work. I assumed that he wanted to grab a bite to eat before going home to pack but boy was I mistaken. He had over 40 kilos....let me repeat...OVER 40 KILOS of brochures and samples that he needed me to help him load into a taxi. WTF??!! I was wearing a pencil skirt and heels. I was not happy. He got stink eye. When no taxi was to be seen (what does one expect at 7:30 on Friday night?) he had me lug two boxes of brochures down three blocks until we fortunately flagged down a cab. Then I dragged the boxes up four flights of stairs in our walk-up and collapsed in the middle of the living room, not at all dramatically. And I certainly was not dramatic when I saw the condition of my beautiful heels.
I helped SB get the rest of his luggage packed and realized that we now had 80 kilos of samples, brochures, clothing, and etc. in two suitcases and one enormous backpack. The limit is 22 kilos. SB had this idea that he would pay some overweight luggage fee and be on his way but I was concerned that Air France was not going to let such egregiously overweight luggage onto their plane, excess fee or no.
And this is where I shall tell you that I could almost believe in supernatural events and karma because the cosmos always seems to allow my SB to pass on sticky situations. SB's friend, Tom, rang us up as SB was getting me to reweigh everything (because if I stand on the scale long enough, the luggage will lose 60 kilos) and told him that he had heard from another friend that SB was going to Paris and guess what? Tom was flying out on Cathay fifteen minutes later on Friday and wanted to share a ride to the airport. So SB asked him how much luggage he had and Tom responded that he was only bringing a carry on. And this is how Tom's business class, frequent flyer, VIP self ended up with 40 kilos of luggage. Now SB only had to pass 40 off as 22. Well, I got my revenge. We checked 22.6 into the flight and he carried the rest in his carry on which no one bothered to weigh for compliance with the 8 or so kilo limit. As I was kissing him goodbye at the gate I sternly told him to stop hunching over because everyone would know he had on an 18 kilo backpack. And then I watched him walk stiff legged into the terminal as I cackled with glee. "Have a lovely time in Paris and buy me presents!"
So on Thursday he said that he was leaving on Friday. It was late Thursday, around 11pm to be precise. This was promptly followed by a poorly disguised attempt to convince me to pack for him while acting like he was just asking for advice on what to pack. We spent an hour sorting out "military-trade show-salesman-reputable businessman" wear, and then weeded out the clothing with missing buttons and threadbare crotches. Didn't we buy him four pairs of pants and several shirts two months ago? Ah, but those were all in the mountain of laundry that he never got around to laundering. At about 1 am I protested that I had an 8:30 meeting and crawled off to bed. I could hear him flailing around for a few more minutes before he crawled into bed and made me promise to help pack before his flight. Then he flattened me against the wall and snored away.
On Friday evening he asked me to meet him by the printer's shop after work. I assumed that he wanted to grab a bite to eat before going home to pack but boy was I mistaken. He had over 40 kilos....let me repeat...OVER 40 KILOS of brochures and samples that he needed me to help him load into a taxi. WTF??!! I was wearing a pencil skirt and heels. I was not happy. He got stink eye. When no taxi was to be seen (what does one expect at 7:30 on Friday night?) he had me lug two boxes of brochures down three blocks until we fortunately flagged down a cab. Then I dragged the boxes up four flights of stairs in our walk-up and collapsed in the middle of the living room, not at all dramatically. And I certainly was not dramatic when I saw the condition of my beautiful heels.
I helped SB get the rest of his luggage packed and realized that we now had 80 kilos of samples, brochures, clothing, and etc. in two suitcases and one enormous backpack. The limit is 22 kilos. SB had this idea that he would pay some overweight luggage fee and be on his way but I was concerned that Air France was not going to let such egregiously overweight luggage onto their plane, excess fee or no.
And this is where I shall tell you that I could almost believe in supernatural events and karma because the cosmos always seems to allow my SB to pass on sticky situations. SB's friend, Tom, rang us up as SB was getting me to reweigh everything (because if I stand on the scale long enough, the luggage will lose 60 kilos) and told him that he had heard from another friend that SB was going to Paris and guess what? Tom was flying out on Cathay fifteen minutes later on Friday and wanted to share a ride to the airport. So SB asked him how much luggage he had and Tom responded that he was only bringing a carry on. And this is how Tom's business class, frequent flyer, VIP self ended up with 40 kilos of luggage. Now SB only had to pass 40 off as 22. Well, I got my revenge. We checked 22.6 into the flight and he carried the rest in his carry on which no one bothered to weigh for compliance with the 8 or so kilo limit. As I was kissing him goodbye at the gate I sternly told him to stop hunching over because everyone would know he had on an 18 kilo backpack. And then I watched him walk stiff legged into the terminal as I cackled with glee. "Have a lovely time in Paris and buy me presents!"
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