If I were attempting some sort of covert or criminal undertaking by attempting to sneak, unnoticed onto the 12:35 Ryanair flight from Stanstead to Edinburgh today the least I could have done was attempt to fake my identity.
Then the sullen ranks of Ryanair’s “customer services” team could at least feel sullied.
But I was too honest for my own good.
Rewind 24 hours.
I’d flown to Stanstead from Edinburgh, using my Passport as photo ID as I headed to an appointment at OIS in Fleet Street to have my Passport checked in advance of my trip to Nigeria next week.
Armed with a bag of application forms, letters of authorization, passport photographs (two of which remained in my possession) and other sundry items of proof of my existence, and tolerable citizenship credentials, the appointment passed without incident.
Relieved of my passport for 48 hours (for official reasons) it wasn’t even then that I realized I had faux passed. That was the next day on the coach to Stanstead when I realized that with my passport now in the hands of the Nigerian Government I was identity-less, unless you consider;
- The letter from The Nigerian High Commisssion acknowledging temporary receipt of my passport
- All my bank cards
- My boarding pass from the previous day – proving I had travelled from Edinburgh and was simply returning
- My phone and laptop
- A printed card with my photo and place of work
- My Tesco Clubcard
But no, they weren’t to know who I was because I didn’t have
- A library card
- A bus pass or
- A driving licence
Or my passport.
I made the mistake of getting to the airport early and taking the ‘opportunity” to wait for 20 minutes in the Ryaniar “Customer Services” queue (now there is a misnomer if ever you’ve seen one).
As one particularly sullen faced operative finished with the customer in front of me I tentatively stepped forward, eyes wide looking for approval to enter the Stalag.
“No!” she barked.
Not another word or gesture.
It was the end of her shift, it would appear, as she then packed up her ‘stuff’ for the next five minutes before disappearing without a nod, wink or how do you do.
Home, to her loving family for a giggle in front of Pointless. (A programme she must think, on a daily basis, is a metaphor for her life. )
Upon finally being seen I desperately explained my predicament only to be told
“God, we’re getting everything today, this is all I need.”
The operative, assumed the facial expression of a Wild Boar, speared through the ribcage in a prehistoric hunt with the spear having just missed its vital organs, as she vainly sought advice for a while and eventually said “Well you don’t have ID so you can’t fly”.
She sort of grudgingly suggested I could maybe get an ID from the train station but wryly noted, under her breath, that would mean I would miss my flight before adding “…but you don’t get ID for travel passes, do you, anyway?”
So, I took fortune into my own hands, reasoning that ID isn’t always checked, and even if it was perhaps I’d receive a warmer reception at the Gate.
So I thought I’d just chance it.
After all, it’s not as if I was going to Scotland to do anything criminal or as reckless as bungle its constitution and economy (there are people better at that here in London who don’t need photo ID for that).
Security was a nightmare. I had left a coin in my pocket that bleeped, but then the full body scanner broke down.
Tick tock tick tock.
Re-runs of Midnight Express pricking my sweat glands into action.
Nevertheless, thanks to my excellent earlier time-keeping, I got to the gate at the allotted time and tried the old confidently shoving the boarding pass forward whilst moving at speed, without a care in the world trick.
“Ahh. I have a small problem here” I responded. “ I don’t have any.”
“Did you tell customer services this?”
“Yes, but they weren’t very helpful.” (Unless you consider “the computer says no” as helpful. Informative yes, helpful, no.)
I got the distinct impression that that was a fatal error (going to the Stalag).
Being honest had cost me my flight.
They didn’t actually say it but they might as well have – “Really? You didn’t tell customer services, did you?”
In their defence the ladies on the gate at least TRIED to help, but eventually had to concede “the computer still says no.”
They suggested I look for a more sympathetic hearing at Customer Services, ( a sort of Meaningful Vote 2 if you like), so back I trudged only to be met by the stone wall of Gomorrah.
“You don’t have ID? Then you can’t fly.”
Nothing had changed. The speaker had spoken.
“How can I get back to Edinburgh though?”
“The train?” she shrugged and at that I left.
£166 later, I got the train.
It’s my fault. I didn’t figure out that I needed TWO photo IDs to get from Edinburgh to London and back via a Nigerian High Commission Visa office (and it wasn’t on the checklist).
Yes, entirely my fault.
But, you know what, I think with the right attitude and the right people we could have found a workaround. (Seemingly BA have a form you can fill in but no one at Ryanair had heard of such a thing.)
And did I mention the signaling problems between Peterborough and York?
(That wasn’t Ryanair’s fault either.)