Packing light? Nah. I scrapped that as a goal long ago.
When I’m getting ready for a get-away, I want everything with me that I could conceivably need, or want. Might have time to go for a run? Running shoes. Maybe a nice, long, scenic bike ride? Dri-fit shorts and T-shirts. Body-surfing? A swimsuit, obviously. Have tickets for a country concert? My cowboy boots, duh. And I’m just getting started. Given this tendency to pack a bag that weighs as much as a medium-sized elk, there are few things that make me happier than getting rid of my luggage as soon as I arrive at the airport.
I’ve already hefted that dead weight into the wayback of my SUV, and have hauled it back out again in the airport parking lot. I’ve wheeled it into the elevator, out into the terminal, and over to — what a welcome sight! — Baggage Drop. I sweat through the booby-trapped I.Q. test the kiosk computer screen has rigged up for me, print out my tag (phew!), wheel my bag over to the conveyor belt . . . and kiss that over-stuffed and overweight mother goodbye. Have a nice flight! See you at my destination!
Now, with nothing but my backpack weighing me down, I’m free to go about my business, hands free. If I want to buy an Italian hero for the flight, I don’t have to inch up the line with my luggage jamming into my knees. If I want to stop for a quick shot of Jack Daniel’s at the bar before boarding, no need to keep an eye on my hefty buddy. If I need to visit the restroom, my suitcase doesn’t have to make that visit with me. Freedom.
Millennials don’t see it this way.
Here is an email I received from my middle son, reproduced verbatim, as we were completing our arrangements for our (just-completed) trip to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. This was the third installment of our Boyz Only Ski Trip, a.k.a. “Hank’s Bachelor Party”; the earlier editions were to Zermatt, Switzerland in 2015 and St. Anton, Austria in 2016:
Hi — would you mind planning to bring a bigger piece of luggage than you normally would to take some of my ski stuff home with you? I now need to go to Dallas straight from Jackson Hole for work and it would be great to not have to check a bag for that leg of the trip. Hoping it’s not a big deal since you’ll have to check your boots anyway. Thanks!
Millennials will do anything — any-thing! — to avoid checking a bag. Showing up at the baggage carousel, to them, is an unthinkable inconvenience. But more than that, it’s a disgrace. For thirty-somethings, if it’s not carry-on, it’s not cool. Pack only what will fit in the overhead bin. Get to the destination. Grab an Uber. Boom.
This is all great. In theory . . .
All I know is that when I’m on vacation with my three boys — Millennials, all — I hear first from one: Dad, can I borrow some gym shorts? From another: Hey, got any extra boxers? From the third: Think I can fit into your running shoes? I only brought flip-flops. They have pretty much nothing they need. But hey, they avoided that baggage carousel.
Clearly, I think my way is better. The trick is, how to convince them? I need the right language. The right presentation. It’s all about the branding.
And I think I’ve got it. Listen to this conversation-of-the-future between two Millennials:
Millennial One: Dude, you forget your carry-on?
Millennial Two: Nah, man. Bopped it.
Millennial One: You what?
Millennial Two: I Bopped it. BOP — Bags On Plane. You know, like Uber. Or Lyft. Get an account, scan your phone at the kiosk, print your baggage tag, drop your bag on the conveyor.
Millennial One: So you don’t have to roll your bag through the airport? Or fight for an overhead bin?
Millennial Two: No, man. Just Bop it.
Millennial One: Cool.
As long as there’s an app for it, it’s all good, man.
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