Seattle International Airport

I'm at the airport waiting for my flight, but all my luggage was stolen from my hotel room yesterday evening. I had an interesting conversation with a police officer and the general manager of the hotel. All were language games to keep the conversation official and to keep any legal responsibility at arms length.

I didn't lose anything that is wholly irreplaceable. The items of real value were my plane ticket, my passport, and my computers. Those I had brought with me when I went out shopping for this iPad that I'm using to write this blog. I suppose there were some papers in my luggage that I'll never find again and the data will be lost, but, all in all, nothing really tragic. Well, I'll miss the books I lost. Some had been with me for forty years. However, the loss is feels physically like a hole cut into my life. I have an urge to converse about it and to fill that hole with words.

I've mentioned it to everyone who asked if I was having a good day. They act surprised and alarmed. The reason is simple. Nobody asks about your day under the assumption that there is some great disaster about to be revealed to them. I quickly move on.

Now, I'm in the boarding area of the airport. I'll have to wait almost two hours to board. I have no one to talk to about my loss. The best I can do is recycle it as my linguistic anthropology blog. … I think I'll double-check my Skype to be sure nobody is online. 88