If there is one thing in the world I absolutely hate, I mean more than just hate its deeper than just your run of the mill hate, I don’t think words can describe the level of depth this hate is at, I think you get the general idea what I mean.
Well this one thing is PACKING!! it is horrible, it is tiresome and stressful and every time I do it I near on have a breakdown and start crying curled up in my suitcase rocking to the rhythm that no one can hear but myself, does anyone else have this problem?
You lay out all that you want to pack and there is no way in the world that you can fit this amount in a shipping container let alone the piddly suitcase you are taking, but low and behold you think you can defy the laws of science and you try anyway.
There are many ways you try to fit it all in, you fold every item very neatly including your socks, or you roll everything up so tightly you are not sure it will ever look the same again, you throw it all in the case randomly, you use one of those vacuum bags that says it reduces items by 400% and still you cant even get half of you stuff in. Its Probably at this point your feeling very stressed so you decide you need to walk away have a cup of tea to steady your nerves and give your clothes a ‘time out’ as if its been misbehaving, After about 2 hours (one cup of tea turned into 2 and then a toasted tea cake and an episode of Friends) you come back to teach your clothes a lesson you cram it all in you sit on it, you jump on it, you try and catch it by surprise, you get your entire family and the next door neighbours to sit on it, But still the laws of science are winning..... Now what?
Well this is the bit I hate most you have to go through your belongings and decide what to leave behind, well I know I'm not alone with this, you can’t do. it its one of the hardest things to do in the world, how do you decide? Do you flip a coin? Do you draw straws? Do you pull names out of a hat? How ever you decide you have to leave stuff behind so you pick a few tops you haven’t worn since you bought them and a pair of trousers that probably don’t really fit you but you like to have them around because one day you know you will fit in them again. Anyway it’s a long and upsetting process but you do it you have by now probably halved your amount and you are so happy with yourself that you feel you deserve another little break so you go for another cup of tea. Another hour later (one cup turned into a light lunch and a quick check of your emails and Face Book) you return feeling strong that you will win this battle. Off you go with a skip in your step folding something’s rolling others getting cocky sneaking a sock in there and a toothbrush over there its like a giant game of tetrus you love it your winning the pile is going down and the suitcase still has loads of room its great you start the music and start singing along with joy. Then finally the moment of pure delight all of the pile is gone and yep it looks good it looks positive yes you can close the lid easy peasy zip zip zip all done up. You dust off your hands stand up straight and beam that smile of accomplishment. Well done you, pat on the back. Ok you say lets get the bag out of the way so I can put the other things away...... Hmmmm there seems to be a problem the suitcase seems to be caught on something you have a feel around the case nope nothing obvious you can see maybe if I slide it off the bed that will loosen it up..... Holy Crap it was not caught on anything it just weighs the same as a baby elephant you pull all of your back muscles and have a broken toe because suitcases always home in on your toes when there heavy (bastards)
NOW WHAT!!! Surely you can’t leave anything else behind... the first pile was necessity then the second was bare minimum, what do you do? Its at this point I normally call my mother, I’m sure half of you know how that conversation goes....
You - “MUM, my bags really heavy”
Mum – “and?”
You – “well what do I do?”
Mum – “take stuff out”
You – “but I have already gotten rid of everything I don’t need, I really need all that is in the case”
Mum – “And”
(By the way not sure if you have noticed but this conversation is always done at a distance normally across the entire house not sure why)
You – “well what do I do?”
Mum – “You can’t need 40kg of clothes”
You – “I do”
Mum – “.......” (No response)
You – “Mum?”
Mum – “Yes”
You – “Do you know where my boots are I have forgotten to pack them”
Mum – “.......”
You – “Mum why won’t you help me”
Mum – “Katherine you need to take the heavy stuff out”
That’s pretty much the end of the conversation because the brat inside of me gets in a huff, so I go through it all and once again painstakingly decide what to throw away I try and repack with tears in my eyes thinking of all the stuff I have to leave behind. OK zip zip zip so now at least we can just about lift it ( I mean just about) so we now have to try and balance myself and the case on the scales so that we can actually read it so there’s me balanced on the scales sweating, holding up the suitcase with my little sister trying to read the tiny dial without her glasses (what a pair) so the scales are those minimalist type you know with absolutely shit all numbers and lines so you pretty much have to guess the weight of anything. So between myself and my sister we agree that the case must be fine because if I weigh ... and the total weight is ... then the case must weigh 20kg, easy peasy.
So right about now I realise I have been packing for 8 hours and I need to leave for the airport in about 30 mins so quick shower and change. Sorry mum I know every time I go away I leave half my shit thrown across my bedroom because it wouldn’t go in my suitcase, does she complain not once MUM your such a trouper we love you.
Now normally this is where my story would end in fact my last trip which is what prompted this lg blog it would be the end of the story but let me tell you what normally happens with my packing. So I go to the airport off I trot with my big bag but I am confident I have packed and weighed this thing myself I get to the counter struggle to even put the thing on the scales but then the numbers start to rise 18 19 20 21 22 23.....40 41 42 43 holy cow please stop, the lady at the counter tells me to remove my hand and stop leaning on the scale bar pheww that was lucky stupid but lucky so I remove my hand and it goes down to around 28 29 I look to check if any of my other limbs are on the scales. at the point I realise this is not the case I look at the lady with a sheepish grin and the eyes that plead please let this go please let this go.. She pretends not to even look at the scale looks at my passport then without even giving me a glance she says those dreaded words. “your bag is overweight” well what the frick do I do now I look at my mother with my best puppy eyes as if she can wave a want and help me I ask the lady what I have to do knowing very well myself.
Off I trot back to the car to unload a further 8 kg from my suitcase into the boot of the car never to be seen again. Back at the counter and always you get back to the same person, bag on scales 18kg WHAT 18 I can fit another 2KG worth of stuff in I glance over at my family and there all giving me the look of even suggest it and we will kill you so I let the lady check in my luggage and then spend the rest of my flight wondering what I could have managed to fit in my bag that is under 2KG.
