British Airways Lost Luggage -- How it all started....

I don't even know where, or how, to begin.

At daybreak on July 16, T.(my bf) and I were ready to bid our apartment of 3 months in Belgium as we triple-checked that we didn't leave any items nor mess behind. We had not slept for nearly 24 hours, and spent at least the last 10 hours packing, re-packing (so we could bring the extra-long baguette toaster home), and cleaning up. By the time we were on the freeway, the crisp sunlight did nothing to our fatigue -- I mercilessly slapped T.'s thighs to keep him awake as he was going 130km/h on a manual shift. His head kept bobbing, and I was barely awake to murmur "hey don't sleep."

We made it to the airport; we even had time to mail the toaster along with other cheapo junk (e.g. sirop de Liege, a Mexican (i know, Mexico is closer to LA than Belgium...), a cookie press) back to LA. Little did we know that it would take more than an hour to check in our baggage at the British Airways counter. One after another, the ticketing staff would say "I have to go" and promptly walk away from her counter despite the line of anxious souls who remained to be checked in and had anywhere from 2 minutes to an hour away from their flight departure time. After the agent gave me my boarding pass and tagged my suitcases, she realized that the conveyor belt wasn't moving. She made a call, and swiftly walked away from the counter. I stood speechless -- I've waited 75 minutes and now my luggage is stuck on the conveyor belt so that anyone can pick up my bags and disappear? The poor American blonde in flip flops behind me started tearing up, "My flight is leaving in 2 minutes. Where is she going?" Poor thing. I asked the only agent remaining, "what will happen to my bags?" She reassured me she would take care of it. I didn't have the time to stand there to wait for the maintenance people to come -- all that standing in line left me with 20 minutes to get through security and make it to the departure gate. I just prayed that no one would steal my bags since nearly all the staff were gone and god knows how long the one remaining agent would be there, or be able to keep an eye on all the bags left still on the conveyor belt. There was no blank tags either, for me to write my LA address on and attach to my luggage. The tags on my bags still had my Belgian address and cell number.

The flight was delayed for at least 30 minutes. The pilot said that some bags were stuck on the conveyor belt but they just got 5 loaded onto the plane and had 5 more coming. "That must be my bag," I thought. Another 10 minutes passed and he said the plane was good to go. We arrived at Heathrow 15 minutes earlier than scheduled -- how that happened with the initial delay, I still don't know. The 10 people whose final destination was London all stood by the baggage carousel. Nothing. Another 15 minutes. Nothing. Staff came by -- all the baggage didn't make it onto the flight. My heart went pounding like crazy. What? No luggage? Nothing like that had ever happened to me. I hadn't slept for like 30 hours -- stress and fatigue don't go down together well. We filed missing reports for the bags and were reassured that they'd be delivered by courier to us by later that night or the next morning. So, no clothes for me. Worse yet, no bras and panties, no contact lenses nor glasses, no toiletries. Just me, my laptop, and a handcarry duffel bag packed with Belgian chocolates, pain d'epices, and a bunch of articles that I brought to read on board. With the 1 pc carry-on policy, I could hardly bring much else with me on board.

After an exhausting 75-minute tube ride, we got from Heathrow to Russels Square. I had been struggling to hold on tight to my duffle bag while I dozed off into a semi-coma-like state on the tube, only to be waken by the station annoucements and door-closing warnings on the train every few minutes. By the time we arrived at Russels Square, my eyes and mouth were dry, my cheeks hot like light bulbs from sleeping in a stuffy train, and probably looking disheveled. So T. and I, feeling like refugees (esp. from wearing slouchy sweats and totally unfashionable but comfy sneakers), dragged our bags across the square to our hotel. I was carrying T.'s backpack, its straps were so long that with every step, the back of my thighs would get slapped. So flap, flap, flap, dodging stares from the fashionable and the chic who were picnicking on the grass, we arrived at our hotel. I was so disheveled I felt completely unfit to step into the fancy hotel...

After a night of frantically shopping for clothes, crying about my lost bags, and scrambling for cheap toiletries at the poorly stocked Tesco Metro, throughout the next morning, the WorldTracer website (BA's luggage tracking system) was updated to show the arranged delivery times for 3 of our 4 bags. They all got in by 2pm on July 17... We consoled ourselves, "the next one may just take a little longer, it'll come"... There, the nightmare began.

L