I found this poem, which I wrote a bunch of years ago (10, maybe?) I see now that it was the germ of the idea for reading the signs. Yep, it pays to keep those WUPs. Here it is, for better or worse:
Upon arrival exit the terminal
but first pick up your bags.
Never forget your bags.
Many look alike
as they tumble
like autistic gymnasts
onto the carousel.
If you look closely you’ll experience
that shock of recognition
when you find the sprig of yellow yarn
on the handle.
Don’t call a porter.
Use the wheelie that you had
placed securely under the seat in front of you.
Strap your bags to it with a bungee,
truss it tight like a Samsonite
ripstop nylon goose
and drag it to the exit.
I’ll be waiting for you
at the second curb,
just behind the dark eyed young mother
with her two small children
shaking and dancing like a pair of maracas
under these laconic rules for life:
no stopping but for the loading and unloading of passengers;
suspicious bags will be destroyed;
the unattended will be towed.
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