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Arch Obler's 'The Screaming Luggage'
Okay, I'll tell you the luggage story. The version you're already making up is probably better than the reality, so you may want to just skip this and retain the sense of mystery.
I have a carry-on bag made of (the label swears!) Teflon. The Teflon part isn't important, except that it helps make the bag a lovely* dark charcoal-grey. It zips longwise across the top, and my personal neuroses re: the supplies necessary for a carry-on bag** mean that I can rarely zip it shut, or want to.
I also have a black teddy (bruin-style) called Hobhouse. Hob is so black as to be nearly invisible. Black fur, black eyes, black nose. He accompanied me on that particular flight, despite the way his pellet-filled paws tend to swing up and clock me in the eye if I pick him up.
Hobhouse was in the very top of the bag, stretched longways, with his nose and eyes just peeping out. I put bag-n-Hob into the x-ray machine, placing him on the conveyor belt nose first so he could see where he was going, and fucked off through the metal detector to pick him up on the other side.
As I retrieved my change and stuffed it back into my pockets, I heard the X-ray attendant give a huge, girly SHRIEK. It turns out that a black bear in black bag looming out of a black tunnel looks amazingly like a huge, gleaming-eyed sewer rat. Then X-ray girl started laughing, and we both scolded Hobhouse for being a little fucker. Not in those words.
Fortunately, this was in the late 90s. If it'd been after September 2001, I'd probably have been given a cavity search, just on principle.
*Or not. I had a typesetting teacher guy who once gave us this dire warning: "Artists like grey. Artists love grey. Nobody else likes grey." He also warned us about reading Doonesbury, and visiting the empty Old Cillessen Place up on t'hill. Okay, I made up the bit about the Old Cillessen Place.
**Minimum three novels, basic drawing kit, notebook, sketchbook, food, change of linen, etc.
I have a carry-on bag made of (the label swears!) Teflon. The Teflon part isn't important, except that it helps make the bag a lovely* dark charcoal-grey. It zips longwise across the top, and my personal neuroses re: the supplies necessary for a carry-on bag** mean that I can rarely zip it shut, or want to.
I also have a black teddy (bruin-style) called Hobhouse. Hob is so black as to be nearly invisible. Black fur, black eyes, black nose. He accompanied me on that particular flight, despite the way his pellet-filled paws tend to swing up and clock me in the eye if I pick him up.
Hobhouse was in the very top of the bag, stretched longways, with his nose and eyes just peeping out. I put bag-n-Hob into the x-ray machine, placing him on the conveyor belt nose first so he could see where he was going, and fucked off through the metal detector to pick him up on the other side.
As I retrieved my change and stuffed it back into my pockets, I heard the X-ray attendant give a huge, girly SHRIEK. It turns out that a black bear in black bag looming out of a black tunnel looks amazingly like a huge, gleaming-eyed sewer rat. Then X-ray girl started laughing, and we both scolded Hobhouse for being a little fucker. Not in those words.
Fortunately, this was in the late 90s. If it'd been after September 2001, I'd probably have been given a cavity search, just on principle.
*Or not. I had a typesetting teacher guy who once gave us this dire warning: "Artists like grey. Artists love grey. Nobody else likes grey." He also warned us about reading Doonesbury, and visiting the empty Old Cillessen Place up on t'hill. Okay, I made up the bit about the Old Cillessen Place.
**Minimum three novels, basic drawing kit, notebook, sketchbook, food, change of linen, etc.
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I think I own as much gray clothing as black. I'm not sure if I'm trying to look less conspicuous, or what.
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