At the end of my vacation, as I gather my belongings, stuff my sandy clothes in a suddenly too small suitcase, and stress about getting to the airport, I decide to check in and get my boarding pass on my “smart phone.”
My man always urges me to PRINT OUT my boarding pass, believing that the process will go much faster once at the airport. I disagree, but usually follow his instructions for the sake of peace and understanding.
But now I’m without a printer, and I’m told by those younger than me that printed boarding passes are passé.
I never want to be passé.
So I hit the appropriate buttons on my tiny smart screen, adding my password, my flight number, my ticket number, and my credit card number (for my one bag). The only number not required, it seems, is the birthdate of my great grandmother.
The scan tells me something deep and uplifting:
I AM NO LONGER PASSE!
My jaunty journey to the airport becomes an ordeal, however, because when I try to locate the scan on my phone during the 1 ½-hour drive, I can’t find it. WHERE IS MY SCAN?
I frantically figure out that I need to go back to the airline site on the “smart” phone and check in again (which to me seems illegal, or at least illogical, since I’m already checked in) and then hit the Boarding Pass button again and viola, my scan returns.
But how do I keep it there?
I cross my fingers that when I approach the terminal, I’ll still be scan-able.
Two minutes before arriving at “Departures,” I check my phone. Drat. “My time has expired,” the web site tells me. So as I rush to the counter with my already-paid-for-bag, my purse, and my one carry on, I desperately hit the check-in button on my phone again and go through the entire process and…
…I shout into the stupefied face of the counter agent:
“I Am Not Passe!”
as I show him my phone boarding pass scan.
“But don’t I need a tag proving I’ve checked in a bag?” I ask with naiveté.
“All on your smart scan,” he replies with a wink.
Yippee! I race up to the winding security line, but when I face the uniformed guard with my phone, the scan is gone.
And the guard won’t let me in without my scan.
“But you’ve got my luggage!” I wail.
She shrugs, not impressed.
My “smart” phone says, “No server found.”
I shove this incriminating evidence toward the bland face of the security lady, who is busy allowing others in with their PAPER boarding passes. “Yeah, that happens a lot here,” she finally admits.
So I race back down the escalator, taking two steps at a time until, panting, I’m back in line for the original agent who told me I was not passé.
The tall, wide-smiled man, at least 25 years younger than me and many years wiser, asks “Is there a problem?”
I breathlessly explain my dilemma.
“ID,” he responds with a serious expression. I whip out my driver’s license, he hits a few computer keys, and a piece of paper begins to spit out of his printer.
“Ms Wight…” he begins.
I look at him questioningly.
“Do you know what I call this?” he continues while handing me the paper boarding pass.
“Job Security,” he deadpans.
I laugh all the way through the 2-mile long security line.