It was 8:04 in the morning in Chicago, and Michael Stewart, a twenty-seven year old, tall, and lanky man, was rushing to baggage claim at O’Hare International Airport. His flight from New Orleans had been scheduled to land in Chicago at 7:30 but had been delayed, and now Michael had to somehow get his luggage and make it onto his connecting flight to New York City which would be leaving at 8:20. By some miracle, Michael had made it to baggage claim in two minutes and had weaved his way to the front of the crowd of other passengers. When the luggage soon started being sent down the conveyor belt, Michael was instantly relieved to see his bag was one of the first to be put on. Michael picked up his bag, and it felt as if his horrible dilemma was coming to an end. At least, that was what he thought.
“Ugh, this is definitely not my bag,” Michael said, rolling his eyes as he saw a tag that read ‘Harold Johnson’ stuck onto the luggage in question. Suddenly, just as Michael was reaching to put Harold’s bag back onto the conveyor belt, he locked eyes with a rather irate looking man from across the room. The man looked to be in his late forties and was rather round.
“How dare you touch my luggage!” the man screamed at Michael as he stormed across the room to meet him. As he neared, Michael saw he was wearing a hawaiian shirt and socks with sandals. Michael also noticed that Harold was eyeing the bag suspiciously, as if he felt that Michael had looked inside of it.
“I am so sorry, Sir. It was an honest mistake. You must be Harold Johnson,” Michael said as he reached out to shake Harold’s hand, but Harold only seemed to become even more furious.
“Security! This man has stolen my luggage,” Harold cried. Harold had hoped the guards would at least admonish Michael for his actions, but he only accomplished calling the attention of everyone in the baggage claim to the altercation he and Michael were having. Michael began to grow embarrassed and wanted to try to terminate the argument before it grew into a true brawl, for Harold was much bigger than Michael, and Michael was beginning to fear missing his flight.
“It really was a mistake Harold. Here, take the bag back. I do not want it,” Michael said as he tried to hand the bag back to Harold, but as he reached to return it the bag dropped to the floor and the contents which consisted of ballet materials fell out.
“There were ballet shoes and tights in there?” Michael asked, shocked from the sudden development, “Are these yours, Harold?” He immediately regretted his decision to ask this, however, because it was beginning to look like Harold would either begin to scream at him or begin physically attacking him.
“Well those are not mine obviously. This heathen has framed me!” Harold shrieked with obvious embarrassment in his voice, “How could you accuse me of such a ridiculous thing.” Michael immediately started to feel bad for Harold and wanted to say something to ease his feeling of humiliation. It was becoming apparent that Harold had only been treating Michael the way that he was out of fear of being shamed by the public.
“Do not worry, Harold. I believe that you will make an extraordinary ballet dancer and will always be anything but mediocre,” Michael said. Harold looked at Michael with tears in his eyes and thanked him for his kind words. During his entire ballet career, he had never experienced such support, especially from a complete stranger.
“Tomorrow, I will be trying out for the New York City Ballet, and your support will be what gets me a role,” Harold told Michael. The two then said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Michael found his luggage, made it on time for his flight, and never came to O’Hare International Airport ever again, but he never forgot Harold Johnson. Years later, Michael heard that Harold was the leading male ballet dancer for the New York City Ballet.