When it comes to packing for vacation, there are two types of
people in the world: those who dash off on a three-week trip to
Europe with nothing but a tube of lip gloss and the clothes on
their back; and those who start making alphabetized lists months in
advance of everything from color-coordinated hats to Q-tips to
skis.
When it comes to packing for vacation, there are two types of people in the world: those who dash off on a three-week trip to Europe with nothing but a tube of lip gloss and the clothes on their back; and those who start making alphabetized lists months in advance of everything from color-coordinated hats to Q-tips to skis.
And the funny thing is, we all know the stereotype of women packing twenty bazillion pairs of shoes and men bringing, well, nothing. But after going on a vacation about a month ago, it has dawned on me that the real truth of the matter is that the whole psychology of packing is much more complicated than that.
Take for instance, my friend Natalie. Each time she goes away for the weekend, her dream is to breeze onto the breezeway with nothing but one teeny, tiny bag of toiletries, much like a flight attendant. She tries to pack so efficiently that she never, ever has to check her bags. However, her husband has a somewhat different packing philosophy. One that requires bringing lots and lots of stuff, “Just in case.” Now let me just stop right here and say that, sure, on the surface these words seem harmless enough. Even reasonable. But experienced travelers know they have the power to bring any practical packing plans you may have had to a crashing halt.
Let’s take, for instance, Natalie’s husband, Joe. He brings golf clubs just in case of a golf emergency, a down jacket and mittens in case of sudden snowfall, a two-liter bottle of soda in case of a beverage shortage on the plane, and so on. But what’s worse is that, according to Natalie, he never empties out his bag completely, so each time he packs he adds more stuff on top of the miscellaneous items he never had time to use during his last trip. Just in case.
Needless to say, on top of having to check their bags, they now get stuck waiting for several oversized bags which always come out of the luggage carousal, you guessed it, last.
Really, it’s amazing what kind of hidden psychosis the simple act of packing will uncover.
Ok, I know some you out there are thinking, “Hey, wait a minute, Lady. That’s nothing but a gross generalization.” And you’re right. There are some people (and you know who you are) who don’t fit neatly into either category. They exist mostly in the gray area, ping-ponging back and forth somewhere between both types without any particular rhyme or reason.
I admit that I fall into this category. On our recent vacation trip to Los Angeles, which the last time I had checked was a major metropolitan city, I didn’t pack shoes or a bathing suit. I packed lots and lots of food. Not snack food, mind you, but food-food. I brought hot dogs, buns, sandwich condiments, a loaf of bread, cream cheese, salami, not to mention three different kinds of yogurt and a cantaloupe.
“I can’t believe you’re taking all of this stuff. You’d think we’re migrating over Donner Pass, not flying to Disneyland,” my husband said.
“Very funny,” I said, “Just don’t crush the Cheetos when you latch the suitcase.”
And, yes, on a more rational level I know that the rest of the country has food, too. But the truth of the matter is there’s something about packing that defies all reason.
Frankly, I’m not sure what all this means, except that if you’re stuck traveling with an incompatible packer there’s not much you can do about it except live with it or change your ways.
And me? Next time I pack for a vacation I’m going to follow Natalie’s example and simplify my life. I’m going to breeze onto the plane swinging one teeny, tiny carry-on like Naomi Campbell modeling a Prada handbag.
My liter of soda and jar of dill pickles will go in my husband’s suitcase.
You know, just in case.
