The Second Question

The lost luggage office at O'Hare is behind Door 4, past the baggage hall. Rosalind has worked there for six years, and she always asks two questions.

The first man arrived at nine, still in his wet coat. “It's a black suitcase,” he said. “Four wheels.”

Twenty minutes later a student came in with a small empty backpack on one shoulder. “Black suitcase,” she said. “Kind of big.”

The third passenger said nothing new. Black. Four wheels. A little scratch on top.

So Rosalind asked her second question, the one that actually finds things. “What's inside it?”

The man said a gray suit and two pairs of running shoes. The student said a hairdryer and a box of chocolates for her grandmother. The third said fishing things.

At eleven thirty a cart arrived with six black suitcases on it. Rosalind didn't look at the wheels, and she didn't look for the scratch. She opened each bag and looked inside, and by twelve o'clock all three passengers had gone home with the right one.

The new assistant asked her how she always knew.

“Everybody describes the outside,” Rosalind said. “The outside tells me nothing. Six of these bags are black. Only one of them has a fishing rod in it.”