Southwest has a REALLY bad rep, don’t they? After watching “Airline” on A&E, I’d walk to my destination rather than fly with them.
Don’t sweat it, it isn’t as bad as it appears. In over 15 years and 600,000 miles on airplanes, there was only one time my bag did either arrive with me, or on the very next airplane. That was when I was flying home from Sweden and there was a blizzard. My bag came two days later on Air France.
I seem to see an Air-France pattern here.
Well, I have a story about flying out of France on another airline–does that count?
Flying from Paris to Boston with a change of planes in Montreal. The very nice Air Canada agent who checked us in at Charles DeGaulle said, (exact quote) “Your bags are checked through to Boston.” Yippee, I think. Of course, when the carousel at Logan shut down with a grinding sigh, our bags were not there. We went to the Air Canada window to ask, “???” and were told that yes, they checked our bags through to Boston. But in Air Canada language that means you have to pick up your bags in Montreal, go through customs, declare your jars of French mustard and sidewalk art, and recheck them. “So,” I ask, " ‘checked through to Boston’ was the CORRECT terminology for the French dude to use, and yet, our bags are still in Montreal?" “Why yes, everyone knows you have to go through customs in FUCKING MONTREAL!”
Okay, that last part was not an exact quote, but that was the gist of it.
The bags were delivered to us via FedEx three days later. Mustard and sidewalk art intact.
Were we idiots for not knowing the correct procedure? Air Canada for not making it clearer in Montreal? The gentil homme in Paris who assured us our bags were bound for Boston?
Anyone remember the late, unlamented Braniff Airways? Very pretty planes. They got you there on time. It was a total crapshoot if your luggage got there.
In 1978, I was living in Austin. I interviewed for a position with Mutual of Omaha. They flew me up on Braniff on a Friday evening. From there, I was supposed to take a taxi to their onsite dorm, spend the night, interview all Saturday morning, then be driven around the city in the afternoon, catch an evening flight back and be back home roughly 24 hours after I left. Sounds all well and good.
I dressed casually for the flight and packed my interview clothes in my bag. I arrived in Omaha, my bag didn’t. After 2 hours of waiting, I finally filed a lost luggage claim, climbed in the cab and headed to the dorm, with a stop along the way at a drugstore to buy toothbrush, etc.
At 0745 the next morning, I arrive at the check-in wearing the same clothes I had flown up in. The gal behind the counter took one look at me and asked, “Flew Braniff, didn’t you?”. I heard that question from every single person I interviewed with, and nobody thought a thing about it. Apparently, it was such a commonplace thing that it had become just another routine. I flew back that night, and my bag was delivered to my house the following Thursday. I have no idea where it went, but it was slightly sunburned and appeared hung over. 
That’s pretty much the major reason Braniff went bust. They could NOT get luggage to the same place as the owner.
Oh frabjous day! The bag has arrived at Chicago O’Hare airport.
Of course, I am now back home in Florida, and my wife is in Seattle, but things are looking up. It is at least on the proper continent. I don’t know details, but around 1:00 today I checked with AA, and there was a note in the file to the effect that “Daisy” in Brussels was forwarding the bag to Chicago.
I had called AA this morning to tell them that I was leaving Chicago, and that the bag, should it be found, would have to be delivered to our home. “Got it,” she said. When I got the update earlier this afternoon, I confirmed that the delivery address was our home in Florida. “Yes,” she said.
When I got off the plane in Orlando, I had a voice-mail waiting from a woman at O’Hare. “Your bag has arrived, but the file says to deliver it to Florida. Please call to clarify.” YES!! I AM NO LONGER IN CHICAGO, I WENT HOME!!! I wanted to shout. Instead, I calmly confirmed that the bag must travel to Florida. By the time I got the voice-mail, it was likely too late to get the bag on the last flight out of Chicago to Orlando, so I am cautiously optimistic that I will see it sometime around mid-day tomorrow. I suppose it’s best that they be overly cautious about the delivery, but it just seemed like one more ridiculous step to take in the process.