I packed more than I could reasonably handle, so I opted to check my baggage curbside.
An enthusiastic Southwest employee (let's call him "Bob") approached me in line.
"Right this way, sir. How many bags are you checking? Can I see some identification? I'll be right back."
While Bob checked me in, I decided to fill out a tag for my carry-on duffel bag. I had barely written my name down when Bob returned.
"Okay, you're all set. Here's your boarding pass and your license back. I'll deal with your bags."
I returned my driver license to its proper wallet slit and continued filling out the baggage tag. Bob, meanwhile, stayed put, smiling hesitantly.
"Oh. Am I supposed to tip for curbside check?" I thought. "Gaaaaay! I hope I have some ones in my wallet."
As I reached into my left pocket, I heard Bob mutter, "That's it."
Two dollars poorer, I resumed filling out the tag. Bob, however, refused to leave.
"Go away! I gave you money already!" I thought.
"You want to go to Gate B8. [pause] Gate B8 is that way. You want to go that way. [pause] That's the way to Gate B8."
Note that I was sitting at the time.
Every time I return home, my mother's first concern is plucking my eyebrows.
"Good eyebrows equal good luck."
Today, she tried a method that involved rubbing my eyebrows with a chalky cosmetic bar of "Silver Snow Bear" (Chinese-to-English translation) and then uprooting hairs with floss.
It didn't work.