A few years ago my wife and I traveled to Italy for a couple weeks. When it was time to leave, we took a cab to Amerigo Vespucci Airport in Florence, and made our way to the labyrinth of lines to get to the gate.
The security line actually seemed relatively short. After going through the identification process, the only thing standing between us and our gate was the screening process. I dutifully took off my shoes, jacket and removed my belt. I took my liquids out as well as my laptop, and put everything in bins and on the conveyer belt. And then, when instructed, by mostly hand signals, as I didn’t understand what they were saying, I entered the area for them to scan my body. I passed through and then there is the mad dash to put everything back together.
And here is where the trouble started.
I always feel rushed in these put-back-together situations. All of my stuff is in 3 or 4 bins, and I think there must be a way for me to do this that makes more logical sense. As fast as I could I pulled my stuff off the conveyer and looked for a place to put them. Over to the side was a heater that formed a convenient shelf about 3 feet off the ground where I put everything. I put my shoes and jacket back on and repacked my backpack. I was all set except for my belt which was nowhere to be found. The missing belt was an adjustable one made of blue and gray canvas material with a gold buckle that adjusts to any waist, very helpful as my waist expands (mostly) and contracts (seldom). I have worn this so much that it is fraying. In short, it is only utilitarian, definitely not a fashion statement.
I looked all over. Where could it have gone? I must have inadvertently put in in my backpack along with everything else. So I emptied the backpack but it wasn’t there. By this time my wife was already through the line and waiting for me at the other side. I signaled to her that I was looking for my belt. Finally, I noticed that on the edge of the heater, where I had placed my belt, it looked like there was an opening. And sure enough, there was a 12 inch portion the metal on a hinge that you could push on either side and it would open to a space down below. As it was dark, I couldn’t see but immediately wondered if my belt could have fallen down there?
I had now reached a fork in the road where I could go one of two ways: forget the belt or look for it. At the time, however, I saw only one path. I wanted the belt back. While I had only paid $10 for it, and it was virtually worthless, I had had it for so long I never considered leaving it.
I was already attracting some attention and I realized that it might look suspicious if I just whipped out my iPhone and shined a light down in the heater to see if the belt was there. So I motioned for a security guard to come over and tried to explain what happened, using hand motions to describe the belt (picture Aaron Rodgers’ discount double check). I showed him my phone and tried to ask permission to use the flashlight to look down into he heater. I am not sure how much sense I was making but I proceeded and he didn’t stop me. There it was a the bottom of the heater. Now all we had to do was to get it out.
I tried to reach my hand down there but I quite couldn’t reach the belt. At this time another guard came over and the first one explained in Italian my dilemma . They looked at each other and then at me. They shined a flashlight down there and saw my prized possession. He went and got a broom, accompanied by another guard. By now, it felt like everyone in the room was looking at me. Nothing to see here; just 3 security guards, a distressed American and a broom! And no luck with the broom.
At this point, I tried to say we’ll just leave it and I can go. However, they weren’t having any of that as now they wanted to get to the bottom of whatever I had lost or placed in the heater. They called their supervisor over, and explained to her what had happened and again they all looked at me. She went away and returned with a claw like device and reached down and pulled out my belt, covered in dust.
I am not sure if I can fully describe the embarrassment that I felt. On so many levels. First, I had effectively tied up 4 security officers in search of my belt. I am sure that there were more important security risks for them to attend to. And other passengers were undoubtedly slowed as I had pulled away a quarter of the staff looking for my belt. And finally, this is Italy, where craftsmen labor to make beautiful leather belts and here we had devoted this time to rescue this old shredded canvas belt covered in dust.
On this last point, the security officers looked incredulous as they held up the belt, shook off the dust, and looked at each other and then me as if to say “this” is what we were looking for?
I said grazie, grabbed the belt and headed to the gate.
When I reached my wife and tried to explain what happened she smiled and said something about putting the belt in the nearest garbage can. I said I now have to keep this forever.
Craig Nielsen 