This is seemingly the fourth week of travel on mining business. Past trips went well. This week’s trip was a mess. I record this here in the hope that you may learn from my mistakes. I confess it was all my fault; due to inattention, old age, or overconfidence, I do not know. Here is the story.
Last week I went to Panama. Into the big wallet that can hold my passport, I put my primary credit card, ATM card, and driver’s licence. When I returned home, I neglected to transfer them back to my normal wallet.
Monday evening I was the last to board the flight to Edmonton. I am always the last to board. I travel light and cannot see the point of getting on too soon to sardine with fat, smelly people. I always book luggage; in thirty years it has never been lost; so why carry a heavy suitcase that never fits even if there is space?
Opening my wallet for identification, I saw no driver’s licence. The beautiful AIr Canadian lady asked for my ID.
“I don’t seem to have it.” I replied.
“What do you have?” she asked.
“Only my seniors gold card for medical,” I replied, mostly dismayed, but also infatuated by her beauty.
“No problem.” she opined. “I will get a supervisor to get you on.”
The supervisor was soon there–she was more beautiful than the first and my old heart was ablaze.
“No matter,” she said. “You are supposed to have a photo ID from a government agency, or two other official pieces of ID. I accept the old age medical card and your credit card. Plus you are an Air Canada frequent flyer with a gold card status.”
“But what of my flight back?” I asked.
“Get them to fax you more photo IDs.”
Knowing that the flight to the mine from Edmonton was a charter and they never, in six years, had asked for ID, their beauty and helpfulness prevailed and I boarded the flight.
Next morning in Edmonton, I arrived at the counter for the charter flight to the mine. For the first time ever, they demanded ID.
“You have never asked for this before,” I protested.
“Well the system has changed. You used to go by one of those Aboriginal airlines. Now you go by WestJet. We do things right.”
“I must get to the mine.” I protested. “AIr Canada let me on with these ID pieces.”
“WestJet obeys the law, and you cannot get on, even though this is a special charter flight. You are not the first to fail to show ID, but we do it right, so no mine for you.”
I confess I decided they were pure bitches. The first book-in agent and her even uglier supervisor. No sympathy, understanding, or attempt to get me on a private charter to the mine.
I had to return to the hotel. I spent a fruitful day working, while the office fedexed my drivers license and the travel agent booked me on a return flight via Air Canada to YVR. I shall try to get to site next week.