Have you seen my luggage?

Awoke early Sunday morning to prepare for the journey back east from Phoenix. Just before departing for the airport, I thought to check the status of my flight. CANCELLED, it said on the web site. I called US Air, and I'd been re-booked for a 2:30p departure, arriving Charleston at 9:50p. In other words, a 6-hour delay.

I called again to confirm what I'd been told on the first call (I'm a belt and suspenders kind of guy when it comes to dealing with the airlines). Yes, confirmed, but the 2:30p departure is full of stand-by's; don't take any chances, the voice on the other end of the phone said. Somehow, I didn't feel all that confirmed anymore.

Calling a third time, I get "Ruby," and she suggests I go through Chicago instead of Charlotte. "Can you make an 8:30a departure?" she asks. Since my original departure was scheduled for 8:45a, "Sure," I say. OK, she says, let me just confirm that I can get you on a United flight out of Chicago. "Please hold." Literally, 25 minutes later, she returns to the line. I'm halfway to the airport by now. "OK, you're confirmed."

I won't go into the special security screening or the other confusion just trying to get a boarding pass. The connection in Chicago was tight, and the fact that we arrived late made it tighter. I made it though, just barely. But my bags didn't. And the airline couldn't find a record of two bags, just one, and they aren't sure if it's my suitcase or my golf clubs.

I guess we'll find out when one, both or neither arrives in Charleston, maybe today.

My radius for driving vs. flying has just expanded ... again.