Getting to my "G'day mate!"

I got lucky.

For work, I got the opportunity of a lifetime to travel to Australia.

Getting there... not so lucky.

Well perhaps that's an exaggeration, but let's say my pre-travel left something to be desired...

FROM THE BEGINNING

Starting in Dallas, I stood in the wrong line for thirty minutes... 3-0 minutes.

Finally figuring out I'm in the wrong place, I start rushing to the other side of the terminal... realizing that my luggage is suddenly REALLY hard to roll along.

I keep trucking along figuring something is caught in the wheel until it starts dragging so bad I finally stop to get whatever is caught on the wheel out.

That when I look back and realize... There is no wheel. Or wheel cover that is... Yes, behind me was a trail of little wheel plastic bits and a black streak from my bag-dragging.

I pretend like it didn't happen and keep moving.

I'm THAT guy. (I still kind of hate myself for it too.)

Hiding my guilt I hightail into high gear, hoping no one notices the jerk who's trailing a mass of plastic shame behind her.

The guy must have sensed my weakness... like the sickly antelope from the heard. Looking back I wonder if he would have blackmailed me.

The guy was a reporter for a local news station. He was working on a piece and needed interviews and cornered me.

I. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. This.

I'm not really sure what I said to him... I AM acutely aware that I had no make-up, was flustered, and was practically wearing PJs. I can only hope that this is one of those fluff news pieces that never sees the light of the day. (Sorry 'bout your career stranger but I don't need half of Dallas seeing me look like a hot, plastic-littering, mess.)

I somehow managed to make it on the plane without any further disaster (aside from handing the desk clerk half of my broken wheel - the look on her face can pretty much be described as WTH).

So... 19-hour flight here I come....