So we always do this thing when we have a trip coming up, type A personality or not. We get out the bags, usually some suitcase that looks like crap because the baggage handlers on the last flight apparently played dodge ball with it on the tarmac and ran over it when they were done. We pick out our outfits based on activities we may or may not do. Places we might go, covering the bases from ¨oh so casual ¨to ¨damn you look good¨. Then the shoes, then the avalanche of accessories, electronics, hair products, toiletries (I laugh every time I write that word, such an absurd catergorization really). The travel books, language guides, journals etc.
In your mind you flash back to the girlscout/boyscout code of always being ready for every situation. Thats me although i have to admit, I was an extrumely disgruntled 7 year old that was never allowed to join the girlscouts, or what I assumed was the even cooler boyscouts. They got to go camping your know! You never heard of boyscout earning a stupid badge for sewing. Instead my brother and went out raiding the trash piles at construction sites and built stuff in the woods.
Anyway I admit, I was once…who I am kidding, pretty much most of my adult life, that kind of packer. As long as it is under the 50 lb or 24 kilo airline check-in accepted weight allowances for luggage, you can stuff the that bag till it bulges, and if you it has an expansion zipper you can shove even more in there. So maybe you have to sit on it to get it closed or tie a strap around it and pray it doesn´t explode going down the baggage carousel. Until the day I finally started to learn, you pack it. You pay!
You have to carry, push, shove, drag that back through who knows how many hallways, elevators, parking garages. And lord forbid it should be an ounce over the allowance when you plop it on the scale at the airport. There´s nothing like being reprimanded by a german check-in agent as you work feverishly to try and weed through your suitcase while a line impatient passengers glares at you. Quick put on the heaviest shoes, forget the the jar of peanut butter, put on the coat (who cares if its 95 degrees, blah blah. Or you succumb to the pressure of those glaring but understandably annoyed would-be passengers, and you shove your credit card across the counter and pay the extra $50 for your overwieght bag. Like I said, you pack, you pay!
Big WooHoo 