THE RED JACKET

“The Red Jacket”

REVISED

Robert Isenberg

8/30/2013

A trip to Vegas and, of course, there had to be a story.  Vegas is a microcosm of the United States.  Could you use the word ostentatious to describe Vegas?  Not really.  Would grandiose work?  It doesn’t do Vegas justice. No, the only description for Vegas is the phrase “not enough”. There is no such thing as enough in Vegas. 

So I thought perhaps,  I should tell of the people who sit down in front of the slots.  The ones who are afraid to break for lunch, because someone else might benefit from their hard work of pulling the slot’s arm.  Should I tell of the shows that I rarely go to see, because I get done working way too late?  Should I tell of the long hours of sitting up and waiting, waiting for the purchasing agents to keep their appointments?  I don’t think so. Should I tell of the amazing indoor restaurants under the incredible clouds as I look above at the never changing blue sky? The hostesses actually ask would we want inside or outside. The gondoliers are crooning their “O Solo Mio” renditions. Street merchants hawking gelato.  Can this really be happening? Is it all too surreal?  Shall I tell this to all of you?  I choose not to.

Rather, I choose to tell of my ten year old red Land’s End jacket, which I left on the plane that had carried me and my jacket from Boston to Vegas.  It wasn’t until I arrived at The Venetian Hotel that I realized I had left my jacket on the flight.  How did I come to this realization? What caught my attention? Certainly, I didn’t need my jacket in Vegas 107 degrees outside and 69 degrees in the room.  It was what was in my pockets that caught my recall. Certainly not the winter gloves, not the package of gum, not the breath mints, nope,  not the car keys, I would worry about that on Monday,  when I returned to Logan Airport.   Medication?  I could make it three days without it.  But how could I get along without my trusted hair brush? 

As I came out of the bathroom, I checked the mirror. Another bad hair day.  Where was my hair brush?  Uh oh!  Where did I put my jacket? Yes, then it came to me.  I had placed my jacket in the bulkhead in front of my seat because there hadn’t been enough room in my overhead compartment. What to do?  Who to call?  I began with America West’s 800 numbers: a joke! Nothing but,  worthless recorded messages. I called my travel agent who gave me America West’s 800 numbers.  Nothing could stop me now.  I put on my Sherlock Holmes hat and somehow found a local number for America West.  After at least four calls that took me on a circuitous route, I scored. I actually discovered the local lost and found number. 

I called at about twelve o’clock noon and listened to a message explaining that somebody was always on duty between the hours of 9:00 AM and 2:00 PM.  I left a message that I had left my red Land’s End jacket with critical medication and car keys in the pocket.  I didn’t mention my hairbrush .  This was on Thursday.  I included my name, hotel number, and room number.  No call back on Thursday.  I called three times on Friday between the hours of 9:00 AM and 2:00 PM only to reach the same message. Saturday was a repeat of Friday, except that I tried calling four times and my wife Dana tried once.  On Sunday, when my wife drove our Daughter Sarah to the airport she went to various locations at America West.  Finally she was told that if my jacket had been found it would be sent to Phoenix: America West’s home for wayward jackets.. 

A friend from Boston called to tell me about Sunday’s brutal Nor’easter that would most likely be greeting my planned arrival.  He asked me if I was worried about getting home.  I told him of my red jacket plight, the missing medication, and the car keys.  I did not mention the hairbrush, but said that the only thing that worries me is that when I board the plane that the pilot is wearing my red jacket.  At 4:30 PM on Sunday, as we were checking out, the phone rang.  It was Frank from America West.  They had found my red jacket.  I could pick it up at the airport.  He carefully briefed me that when I arrived at the airport  I was to report to “Special Situations.” I should explain that Frank had called and that my jacket would be in the auditing department.  When I introduced myself to the “Special Situations” person, I explained to him that Frank had called at about 4:30 PM to tell me my red jacket would be safely placed in the auditing room. He told me that all missing articles are sent to Phoenix and that mine would be no exception. He said,  he had never heard of anybody named Frank.  He explained that lost and found people were only on duty from 9:00 AM to 2 PM, so how could this Frank possibly have called at 4:30 PM?  

Finally, he relented and said he would look if I gave him my I.D., in this case, my license.  At this point, I would have given him my entire wallet.  He went behind the door and after about ten minutes came back out and asked “What color did you say it is?” 

I told him my jacket was red and the pockets contained my car keys and my medication.  I didn’t mention my hairbrush. 

He went back again.  My heart was beating.  What seemed like forever was probably another 7-8 minutes.  He appeared with my red jacket.  A round-trip ticket from Boston to Vegas: $675.00.  A hotel room at the Venetian:  $500.00% day A bet on the Carolina Panther’s to win the 2014 Super bowl: $10.00.  A ten-year-old Land’s End jacket costing $80.00 containing my hairbrush:  Priceless.