A Quick Nightmare

Yes, this is a dramatic (and unwarranted) heading, but I'm trying to ride this "dream" thing out so please bear with the dream-themed titles... and the rhyming. I'm not a "bad flyer," but I do manage to get into some pretty frustrating situations in and around airplanes and subsequently manage to get myself pretty worked up. So here's the most recent case. Background: I'm super-pumped that I've managed to fit all my clothes for a 2 week "business" trip in a carry-on suitcase. (Note 1: I use the term super now because I'm so Midwestern. Note 2: I'll stop using quotes like I'm Bennett Brower.) I made it through check-in with no problem and past the pink-tagging-ticket-scanner-person with the same grace and sneakiness and onto the plane, only to realize that my bag actually did not fit into the overhead compartment because we were on one of those 3 person-per-row mofos. Thus, I headed back off the plane, through the hall and to the counter to get myself a pink ticket. No big deal, I thought - it will put right below the plane and will be waiting for me when i get off. I was right. What I didn't plan for was the torrential downpours in Atlanta. If a shaky, anxiety- and nauseau-inducing flight (remember I'm on the remote controlled jet), I set down into this wet mess to find my bag sitting solo on the top of the 4 leveled cart. The exclamation point: I traded my seat 4B for 11A, so some chaunce could sit next to his girlfriend. And she had bangs.
Photo: "That bag is back on the escalator." (Bag shown after being carried from Gate B1 to D14, which included a 3 minute AC-filled tram ride.)