Have you ever wondered what would happen if you showed up at an airline ticket counter without your ID? Until recently, I never put a whole lot of thought into it. However, on a recent trip, after repeatedly spreading the contents of the three pockets of my daypack all over the floor in Terminal A at Logan Airport, it became clear that my little black leather zippered pouch containing my ID, Visa card, National Car card, AAA card, and a mere $10-12 in cash was missing. On a short trip such as this one (six days in Boston), I rarely tote along my whole hefty wallet. Instead, I just transfer a few necessary items to my trusty little pouch.
For years and years, I used a tiny-patterned Pierre Deux cloth purse just big enough to hold a couple credit cards and folded bills, until one night the zipper jammed while I was at the National Car Rental counter, and I was left without a way to get to my ID and credit card inside. The line behind me was getting longer and longer as I tried to wedge that zipper open. Forgot to mention that the pull for the zipper had mysteriously fallen off. As the agent at the counter was searching for some sort of sharp instrument, I finally ripped it open. A few days later, while visiting Savannah College of Art and Design with Maggie, I picked up a nifty slightly larger leather version at the art store--black with a dark purple stripe at the top, this time big enough to hold dollar bills without folding them. I came to love that new pouch, that is until it went missing.
There is a way to get through airport security without ID, especially on a return trip rather than an outbound one. It doesn't hurt to have your spouse along for moral support. The Alaska Air ticket agent accompanied us to security, where a supervisor was summoned. No first name on her badge, just "Woods," and a thick Boston accent to accompany her monosyllabic moniker and her TSA strut. "You have no ID whatsoever? No credit card? Nothing?"
"Nope. I have my husband and my laptop, though," I offered.
"No. You'll have to come with me and fill out some paperwork. And your husband is not allowed to say a word." I presumed that to mean no prompting in case I couldn't remember my middle name or date of birth. The form simply asked for my full name and home address.
"I have to call Washingon now." DC, that is. After reporting her full name (that mystery first name was Melanie), her rank and serial number, she then asked me my date of birth, the last four digits of my phone number (which I have to admit almost stumped me since I never call home without hitting a speed dial button), and who lived with me at that address. Does a boomerang college grad count? No mention of Social Security number.
I guess Big Brother was watching and Washington knew of my existence because we were then escorted to the front of the security line. My items were all gathered together, shoved through the x-ray machine, and then further checked by a TSA agent. I was wanded, frisked, and patted down head to toe; my daypack and laptop were checked for any residue. When I saw the agent rifling through my daypack, I told her to let me know if she found my little leather pouch.
Upon arriving home, I ordered a new driver's license online but was reluctant to cancel the Visa card. We've had new cards issued several times due to previous identity thefts, and it's a hassle. Instead, I monitored the card's activity online--it was not being used. This led me to believe that one of three things had happened: either my wallet had fallen into the hands of some good soul who planned to mail it back to me; it was not yet found; or someone was strategically hoarding it and planned to go on a spending spree as soon as my guard was down. I filed a lost & found report with National and heard nothing back for about a week. Just as I was about to cancel the Visa card, I received an email from National. The pouch was found and would be Fed Exed back to me. Hurray for the honest person who turned it in.
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