At the airport, Rita placed her suitcase on the check-in scale and watched the display climb to thirty-one kilograms.
Her allowance was twenty-three.
“That cannot be right,” she said.
Her husband, Colin, looked at the suitcase. “You packed for weather.”
“I packed for possibilities.”
The agent, Maya, asked them to remove eight kilograms or pay the fee.
Rita opened the suitcase on the floor. Inside were four pairs of shoes, three books, a hairdryer, two coats, and a kettle.
Colin lifted the kettle.
“The hotel has one.”
“Hotel kettles have history.”
She removed one book. The scale still showed thirty-one.
She removed two pairs of shoes. Thirty-one.
She removed the hairdryer, both coats, and a bag labelled EMERGENCY BISCUITS.
The display remained unchanged.
Maya pressed the reset button. It still read thirty-one.
Colin smiled. “Your suitcase has reached emotional weight.”
Rita placed the now lighter case back on the belt.
Thirty-one.
A supervisor arrived. He checked the calibration using a twenty-kilogram test weight.
The scale displayed thirty-one.
“So the scale is faulty,” Rita said.
The supervisor shook his head. “Something else is on it.”
They looked beneath the belt. Nothing.
They checked the adjacent counter. Nothing.
Then Maya noticed Colin leaning his elbow on the baggage belt while watching.
“Sir, step back.”
He did.
The display dropped to twenty-four kilograms.
Rita stared at him.
“You were part of my luggage.”
“Only seven kilograms of me.”
The suitcase was still one kilogram overweight.
Rita returned the shoes, books, hairdryer, coats, and biscuits to the case.
The weight climbed to thirty.
She removed Colin’s elbow from the calculations permanently and began deciding what to leave.
Colin suggested the kettle.
Rita suggested his golf shoes.
“They are in my suitcase.”
“Then your suitcase can pay its own fee.”
They shifted items between bags. Colin’s case, which he claimed contained only essentials, was opened.
Inside were two golf shoes, a travel iron, a full-size pillow, four guidebooks, a portable speaker, and a framed photograph of their dog.
Rita held up the photograph.
“You said I packed emotionally.”
“The dog has never travelled.”
“That is why he needs representation.”
They redistributed everything until both cases weighed exactly twenty-three kilograms.
Maya attached the tags.
As the bags disappeared down the belt, Colin looked at the hand luggage.
“Where is the kettle?”
Rita lifted his backpack.
He groaned.
At security, the backpack was stopped. An officer removed the kettle, the emergency biscuits, a golf shoe, and one of Rita’s books.
“Why is there only one shoe?” he asked.
Colin looked at Rita.
She said, “Weight distribution.”
At the departure gate, Colin discovered the other shoe was in the checked suitcase travelling under Rita’s name.
“If her bag is lost, I cannot play golf.”
Rita opened the biscuit packet.
“If my bag is lost, I cannot change clothes.”
“That is different.”
“Yes. I will still enjoy the holiday.”
When they landed, Rita’s suitcase arrived. Colin’s did not.
He looked relieved. “At least my shoes are safe.”
Rita reminded him that one shoe was in the missing case and the other had travelled in his hand luggage.
Colin stared at the single shoe.
The airline clerk asked him to describe the missing suitcase.
“Black, medium-sized, and emotionally heavy.”
Rita corrected him.
“No. That was you at check-in.”