I showed up to the airport Saturday morning for my flight to Zurich via London Heathrow.  This was to be the latest attempt at beating jet lag - take the day flight to Heathrow (only day flight between Europe and Toronto), spend the night in London, then head to Zurich in the morning fully rested.

Upon check-in, I determined that my reservation of a bulkhead aisle had been randomly switched to a back of the plane window seat.  Also, the plane was oversold.  So I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse - fly me direct to Zurich in first class lie-flat seats and someone else can have my London seat.  After waiting for the plane to board, they agreed to my terms and provided me with the new ticket and $500 credit for future travel.  I was thinking this was a pretty good deal, and went home to spend the afternoon with the kids.  The Zurich flight left in the evening.

I arrived in Zurich at 8am this morning, and had a bad feeling about the progress being made on the baggage claim belt.  One by one, people picked off their bags and headed out the door.  One by one, the number of bags remaining on the belt dwindled.  And one by one, the chances of my bag being just around the corner faded.  My luggage was lost.

Well, that’s annoying but I figured I’d let the insurance on my AMEX kick in and buy me a new suit.  I’m meeting with one of the largest banks in the world tomorrow, and gosh darnit I’d better find a suit.  As I was sharing my plan with the baggage services person, he quietly informed me that there are no stores open in Zurich on Sunday.  But other than that detail, I think he believed it to be a good plan.

The day had now become a mission - to find myself a suit by the end of the day.  I embedded myself with the indigenous people and began to gather intel.  I learned from my hotel concierge that the shopping center at the train station was likely open.  Indeed it was, but the two menswear stores were perplexed by my rather generous dimensions.  However, they suggested that the airport might have more selection.  So I hopped on a train back to the airport and hit every store I could find.  They were right - the selection was better and there were a few places with nice suits.  Most of them even put me into the dressing room with a few items only to find that indeed, this is a kind of big that they haven’t seen before.  I trudged back to the hotel in defeat.

For dinner, I met with a coworker who had made dinner reservations at a fancy place.  Upon discussion of my wardrobe difficulties, she suggested that the reserved venue might not take kindly to my blue jeans and gray sweatshirt.  Instead we found somewhat less cosmopolitan place with big shared benches and plenty of local beer and food (my kind of place).  Claudia and I got to know each other in advance of our meeting tomorrow, and I think she even convinced me that the customer would accept my tale of woe as explanation for my attire.

As I settle in for the night, there is a slim chance that the bag might just show up here in the hotel.  But since the status of the bag is listed as “TRACING CONTINUES. PLEASE CHECK BACK LATER”, I’m not holding my breath.  That’s airline speak for “BAG, WHAT BAG?  YOU CHECKED A BAG?  HMMM, INTERESTING…”.

Oh, and there’s a charming clock tower beside my hotel that rings its bells every 15 minutes.  Given that it’s 10pm and the bells are still ringing, one has to wonder just how much sleep I’ll be getting tonight.