This morning I arrived in Dublin. The wheels of my suitcase appeared to be malfunctioning, but that’s old news.
They throw around your suitcase, they sit on your suitcase, they pee on your suitcase, and they try to blow up your suitcase. Air travel is being grateful for the fact that the airline employees were willing not take a shit in your suitcase.
But when I got to my apartment I discovered that I wasn’t able to open my suitcase, and it was only then that I noticed that this wasn’t my suitcase.
I tried to call Delta Airlines in Dublin, to no avail.
I tried to call Servis Air, the baggage handler of Delta in Dublin, to no avail.
I tried to call the airport; to no avail.
Then I found a message on Facebook. A lady wrote: “You have my suitcase, I have your suitcase.” It was only later that I discovered that this lady was not a complete stranger to me. More than a year ago she sent me a message that she was very much interested in porn and that she could help me with my research on this subject. (In 2011 I gave a lecture on porn at Leiden University.)
Of course it’s pure coincidence, but I call this uncanny.