An airport employee explains why you should never tie a ribbon to your luggage

Ouadie Rhabbouron

Do some suitcases seem to vanish on the carousel? Often, a misplaced ribbon or keychain is all it takes to complicate your trip. Discover the little details that make all the difference.

Have you ever wondered why some suitcases mysteriously disappear on the baggage carousel? Sometimes it's not a simple oversight or loss: a simple ribbon or a large keychain can transform a smooth journey into a real headache. What if the solution to stress-free travel lay in small, often overlooked details?

Why your colorful ribbons can complicate your trip

Many people like to personalize their suitcase with a ribbon, a scarf, or a large keychain for instant recognition. Convenient, right? Well… not always. According to baggage handling professionals, these accessories can disrupt automated sorting systems at airports.

Tag reading systems are very fast and accurate. They scan each barcode to direct your suitcase to the correct flight. But if a ribbon, knot, or old tag is near the barcode, the reading can fail. As a result, your suitcase is removed from the automated system and inspected manually, causing delays and the risk of your luggage not being loaded on time.

In other words, this  small decorative accessory  can turn a smooth journey into a source of stress.

How to identify your suitcase without disrupting the sorting process

Make no mistake: this isn't about traveling with a plain, impersonal suitcase. It's simply about choosing identification methods compatible with airport systems.

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“I married a woman thirty years older than me—despite my family’s strong objections. But on our wedding night, I uncovered a secret that changed everything. My name is Arjun Mehra. I’m twenty years old, about 180 cm tall, and currently in my second year at one of New Delhi’s top universities. Until recently, my life was simple—classes, exams, and future plans. That all changed the day I met Kavita Rao. She was sixty—graceful, composed, and impossible to ignore. Once the owner of a successful chain of luxury restaurants in Mumbai, she had stepped away from business and lived a quiet, private life. We met at a charity event in Gurugram. While others tried to stand out with loud conversations and laughter, Kavita remained calm and reserved. Her silver hair reflected the light, and her presence alone drew attention without effort. A few days later, she invited me to her mansion in South Delhi for tea. What I expected to be a short, polite visit turned into hours of meaningful conversation. She spoke openly about her life—early success, a marriage that ended without conflict, and a loneliness that lingered despite her achievements. She had everything—wealth, status, respect—except someone to truly share it with. Somewhere in those conversations, I realized I cared deeply for her. Not because of what she owned, but because she understood life in a way most people my age didn’t. Three months later, during a rainy evening, I told her I wanted to spend my life with her—no matter the age difference. The backlash was immediate. My family accused me of being after her money. My father called it disgraceful. My mother cried for days. Friends whispered behind my back. Eventually, I chose to walk away from all of them. We got married at her villa, with only a few of her close business associates present. I was the youngest person in the room—and I could feel every judgmental glance. That night, alone together as husband and wife, the atmosphere felt heavy and quiet. Kavita sat beside me and handed me a thick folder. Inside were documents—properties in Mumbai, ownership papers, and keys to a luxury car. I was overwhelmed. “I don’t want any of this,” I told her. “That’s not why I married you.” She studied me carefully before speaking, her tone calm but firm. “Arjun, you need to understand something,” she said. “Loneliness isn’t the only reason I chose you. I need someone to carry on what I’ve built.” Her words unsettled me. She explained that she had no children, and her wealth—worth hundreds of crores—would otherwise fall into the hands of distant relatives waiting for their chance. “I want it to go to you,” she said quietly. “But there’s one condition.” The room suddenly felt smaller. My voice tightened as I asked, “What condition?” She held my gaze steadily… and began to explain.