‘Have you ever lost your luggage?’

Because if you haven’t, I highly recommend it. Once. It’s a good conversation starter.

Last week, I was flying to Las Vegas for a work-in-progress screening of “Beautiful Darling,” a feature-documentary that I edited. I had a connecting flight through Phoenix and would be arriving the day before the screening.

I had decided to check my suitcase and carry on my garment bag with my suit, shirts and jackets, so as not to be left stranded with no clothes to wear if my bag didn’t make it.

When I got to the airport, I found out that I didn’t have a seat on the flight but instead was part of the elite “standby” division because I hadn’t re-checked in online. The woman was completely and totally unhelpful/unsympathetic. She told me in addition to not knowing if I would get on the plane, “You probably will,” that I also could not carry on the garment bag unless I put it inside my suitcase and carried them both on.

“That makes absolutely no sense.” I said.

She shrugged.

“Ok.” I said. And stuffed the garment bag inside the suitcase.

I stood at the gate in front of another woman who told me she couldn’t help me, either. That I would have to wait to find out if I could get on the plane.

“You should have checked in,” she said.

“I’ll wait right here.” I said, as nicely as possible, refusing to budge. “I need to be on this flight.”

“There’s another one that gets in at 1:30 p.m. tomorrow,” she offered.

“I can’t take that one. I need to be there by 10:00 tomorrow morning.”

“Sorry, sir.” she said, “You have to remember to check in” and then she started dealing with the next customer. Didn’t buying a plane ticket used to be enough?

Fifteen minutes later, I was in line to get on the plane, ticket in hand, whew, engrossed in conversation with a fellow passenger when a flight attendant came up to me.

“Sir,” she said, “We’re out of room; we’re going to have to go ahead and check that bag.”

A feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I’d really rather not.” I pleaded with her to let me just carry on the garment bag and watched as she shook her head and hand wrote out a transfer ticket and took my bag from me.

“Las Vegas, right?” she said, and disappeared.

“Say goodbye to your bag.” a girl said behind me.

I nodded slowly, “Yeah.”

She laughed. I didn’t.

The plane was late getting to Phoenix and I literally ran through the airport to get to my connecting flight.

As I sank into my seat, we pulled away from the gate. It was the closest I’ve ever come to missing a plane. But the feeling in the pit of my stomach grew. I doubted that my bag had been so lucky.

I arrived in Las Vegas at 9:00 p.m. and stood at the baggage claim watching the bags dwindle down. Smiling faces picked them up and went on their way. The same five bags circled around and around before I finally headed to the baggage clerk desk. I was fuming, and trying very hard to keep my cool.

“Can I help you?” the woman behind the counter said with a smile.

“Yeah, my bag didn’t make it,” I said.

“Where are you coming from?” she said.

“New York.”

The woman was surprisingly helpful and found my bag within a few punches of her keyboard.

“They have your bag in Phoenix. They’ll send it in the morning.”

“I need it by 3:00 p.m.” I said. “Really.”

“It’ll be in at your hotel by 11:00 a.m.” she said. “Do you need a toothbrush?”

“I do.”

I hailed a cab and saw my first glimpse of the Vegas glow as I made my way to Planet Hollywood, where I was staying.

There was an opening night CineVegas party at one of the clubs at the hotel and I walked through the casino on my way, still wearing a green t-shirt and the black jeans that I had picked out that morning thinking, just something to travel in. Little did I know that I’d be wearing it for two days.

I mingled with other filmmakers, most of whom were nicely dressed, and to their discerning eyes, looking me up and down, I grinned, saying, “Have you ever lost your luggage?”

- Zac Stuart-Pontier