The Barcelona Flying Thief

Barcelona was our last stop on our fabulous trip to Portugal and Spain last summer.  It was fabulous except the taxis were on strike (something about Uber being permitted) so on our way out we had to lug our luggage, along with our baby Bella for 15 minutes to the subway.  The subway A/C was out so it was hot as hell there. We get to the ticket machine and a guy tries to scam us there.  We get to the platform and we have to wait 10 minutes in the incredible heat.  I am sweating and a bit irritated. 

The subway finally comes and I put my first bag on when I feel something in my pocket.  Some guy is trying to steal my wallet! Now I am pissed.  I grab his hand and start yelling for the police. Sandy is yelling at him too.  Next thing you know he rips his hand away and starts to run away.  I decide it is time to chase him (I am not so impressed with the wisdom here).  I catch up to him at the stairs (in case you were wondering, I was impressed with myself that I caught him) and I decided to shove him as hard as I could down a long set of stairs. He went flying. I realized at that point I was going down the stairs too and I think I looked like a cartoon character hitting the breaks trying to stop myself from going down too.  I grabbed the rail and stopped myself...lucky.

Standing at the top of the stairs, I hear Sandy yell, "Steve, the bag!" I run back to the subway just as the doors closed.  I pounded on the door as I watched my bag begin its Barcelona journey on its own. Crap.  Next thing you know, a police officer came (he would have come in handy a couple of minutes earlier) and told me the bag was gone. We dejectedly made our way to the police box trying remember what was in the bag that was not to be returned until the officer gets word that a good Samaritan has returned our bag. The officer says it never happens. 

This seems to be our life.  A lot of stuff happens uniquely to us...almost always good.