Peanut Butter, Spam, and an Ounce of Humanity

It has been customary on my trips to Haiti to fill a checked bag with supplies. This trip was no different, and Jeanne and I spent a good deal of my packing time alternately shifting items between the suitcase and my small backpack trying to get the checked bag under 54 pounds. After many trips back and forth to our bathroom scale, we nailed it at 53 even. My backpack was bursting at the seams.

I was feeling confident when I set my bag on American Airlines scale at 4:45am the next morning.

“Mr. Mayo, you’re overweight by over three pounds,” the ticket agent said, “If you can try moving some things to you pack, it will save you a hundred dollar charge.”

Don’t even ask me where I got the notion the limit was 54 pounds, and not 50. It was a late night.

“I’ve already stuffed my pack, and there’s not a free square inch,” I replied.

“Well, it’s worth a try. That’s a lot of money,” he countered.

With his prodding, I dragged my bag and pack across the atrium to the wooden benches where I could re-engage in suitcase Jenga. The strategy of course was to find the smallest, densest item I could somehow fit in my pack, or just carry in my hand. I pulled out one of a pair of two pound peanut butter jars and walked it over to the counter to show the agent.

“Nope, that won’t make it through TSA,” he said.

I return dejected, force the peanut butter back in the bag, and pulled out a can of Spam. When walked back to the counter I held it over the heads of the customers already in line and got his attention. He squinted at it, waved me over, and pulled another customer’s suitcase off the scale and replaced it with the Spam.

“That will make it through TSA, but it’s only 0.7 pounds, do you have more?”

I had three, in fact.

“You’re into the basics, Mr. Mayo,” he said.

I replied, “I’m headed to Haiti. It’s all about the basics.”

The agent tilted his head down and slightly to the side. With an expression of earnestness, yet warmth, he said, “I understand completely.”

Back at the benches, I squeezed three Spams into my backpack side pockets, and the agent motioned me to the front of the long line. The scale displayed 50.9 pounds. I was defeated.

The agent smiled, “Mr. Mayo, that does NOT say 51 pounds, so in my book that makes it 50. You have a wonderful trip.”