Airport Ordeal

Randi halfway into her adventure in baggage claim. At this time, she has an hour and a half to go.

I feel naked. And naive.
Naked because I have no luggage, and naive to think my bag would have arrived in Port-au-Prince ten hours after bidding it adieu in Chicago. 
It might get here tomorrow morning.
It might not.
No one here is in too much of a hurry. It took an hour and a half for airline crews to unload other passengers' bags, and another hour and a half for baggage services to process my claim.
Upon deboarding, I found myself amidst a flurry of flyers like I have ever seen. The human contents of a full American Airlines 757 crowded around a luggage turnstile about the length of some dining room tables at which I've eaten. That means suitcases get stuck and the said turnstile then stalls. Every 30 seconds.
There has to be a better way.
I was shouted at in French for standing in the way, and sadly, in the years since high school, I have forgotten how to say "please get out of my personal space" in the native language here. There is no such thing as personal space.
Thursday, hopefully with a clean pair of pants, will be a better day. Adam and I have to get up close and personal here in Haiti.