My husband and I regularly engage in friendly competitions. Who can work out more often and work out the hardest? Him. Who can lose the most weight in a day? He can. Who is funnier? Pretty sure it’s me but somehow he garnered my daughter’s vote and claimed victory. Who gives a better toast at a wedding or birthday? He does. Who orders better in restaurants? Obviously, him. Who knows where all of the random stuff is in our house? I’m winning this one but I think he is trying to lose. And, here is the big competition: Who is the better packer?
Last month, we were packing for a 5-day trip that involved Zion National Park and Las Vegas. I began my ritual pre-pack with piles for hiking & biking in Zion (casual) and then going out in Las Vegas (more dressy). My fit, self-deprecating husband came into the closet and assessed my work. With a judgemental look, he asked, “Are you going to be able to get in a carryon?”
That’s a loaded question. It means so many things. First, he’s asking whether or not I’m going to be a pain in the ass and check a bag. If I check a bag and he carries on, he’s won the day. By having to check a bag, I’ve slowed us down, made us less efficient and everyone in the airport will know that we are airport losers. Second, he’s judging me because he’s planning to pack in a carry-on and “beat the system” with no bag fees, waiting at the baggage claim or being worried about lost luggage.
The question is also a challenge. I see what he’s doing but am I going to take the challenge or walk away? Can I get hiking boots, wedges, running shoes, sandals, 6 to 8 outfits and all of my toiletries into a carry-on? I don’t believe I can. My best strategy is stand down and declare my intention to check a bag. I do love the freedom of checking a bag because it opens up my options for extra shoes, clothes and toiletries greater than 3 ounces (like spray sunscreen!)
On this particular trip, I took the early loss and conceded to the checked bag. When self-assured, procrastinating husband finally got to packing, he realized that a carry-on wasn’t going to happen for him either. Don’t get excited because, upon this realization, he did not concede the carry-on competition. Oh, no. He packed a checked bag and a carry-on. And then the unthinkable happened. He asked me if he could put shoes or his toiletries in MY bag!
Do you see what happened here? To me, it was a classic moment. Not only did he not make it into a carry-on but he thought that he could overflow into my checked bag. You can’t have it both ways in an unspoken, marital challenge. Since there was no concession forthcoming, I enjoyed my moral victory by making sure my son wouldn’t allow the overflow into his bag either (ironically, he successfully packed in a carry-on).
Once we were all packed up and ready to head to the airport, the challenge ended with professional, accomplished husband saying, “I could have fit in a carry-on but since you were checking a bag, the whole system broke down and I gave into checking a bag.” In my book, that’s a draw.
Do I have chalk on my face? by Denise Geschke 
2 responses to “heavy competition”
[…] Another small note would be to look at the packing process. If they want to share luggage, frequently overpack because it’s easier than making decisions about what to wear ahead of time or want to stow items in your carry-on, this is definitely something that will persist as long as you know them (see: Heavy Competition.) […]
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So thought provoking! If the ‘game’ is known by all parties doesn’t it loose some of it’s power? More interesting is the intense level of competition. In your specific case it seems to be established that most topics can become part of the event. It is after all is said & done a game hopefully in good humor?
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