Groggy from the flight that spanned the globe, I was on line to give my luggage away for yet another journey that would stretch from the east coast all the way to the west. I opened my backpack to get out my passport and heard a clatter. My blue mouth guard container bounced to the floor. I easily retrieved the container, but I couldn’t find the mouth guard itself.
A mouth guard (for the uninitiated) is the thing that prevents me from grinding my teeth at night. For our purposes you should know that it’s clear, plastic and expensive. Imagine a river of grey and white speckled flooring and Jean with very tired eyes looking, looking, looking and not finding.
What to do? I can’t stand there forever. There was a long queue (Aussie for “line”) of people with their luggage; I enlisted some help with a general announcement. Now I didn’t feel so alone with my problem. It was helpful to see so many people looking downward with me. Still nothing.
I had a five hour layover, maybe I would spend it right here on this line. $100 for every hour is about how much this mouth guard costs. I stepped out of line for a different perspective. “What are you looking for?” said one lady. As I answered I stepped back and felt something under foot. Luckily that thing didn’t break.
“Yes!” I shouted, both arms shooting up like an American football player after a touchdown. I would have kissed it if it weren’t just on the ground and moments before under my shoe.
