Just as parents have favorite children, travelers should have favorite boarding passes.
Think about it.
Remember when you were a kid on summer break. It was ridiculous hot out and you spent happy afternoons eating watermelon, making flower necklaces and building forts in the woods. Then, overnight and with some mystery, the carnival would arrive. Colorful tents and rides were unpacked from enormous trucks with half a dozen wheels, followed closely by accordion-like music that was piped through air thick with the sugary scent of cotton candy.
You begged your parents to go, and when they finally took you to exchange your allowance for that golden ticket it was like a whole new world was suddenly at your fingertips.
As an adult, the carnival doesn't hold the same sort of wonder and mystery (small print: though if you want to be tempted again, "Water for Elephants" and "The Night Circus" are both very enticing reads). You've eaten the cotton candy, seen the bearded lady, and while you have vague memories of being spun around in circles and enjoying it, your stomach now equates those same rides with a bad hangover and acts accordingly.
Luckily, your allowance has grown a bit. You can now look further afield and realize that in many ways the world is now your carnival, and your boarding pass is that golden ticket.
So the question of the day: What's your favorite boarding pass?
Perhaps it's a first?
Regardless of which it is, just looking at that boarding pass evokes memories of what followed.
For me, my favorite boarding pass is a bit of an oddity. I've used electronic boarding passes as much as paper, some very basic and others feats of artistic wonder. This one though, this one was something else.
It was Cairo airport, October 2011. Mo, Addy and I were waiting at our gate for a flight to Asmara. Having had a seven hour layover, Mo and I had left the airport to take a felucca cruise of the Nile and a shopping trip to the Khan el Khalili. We had met Addy at CAI on our return, grabbed snacks in the food court, and were now impatiently awaiting our flight.
It was a night flight and possibly I was a little tired. At least, that's my excuse.
"I can't find my boarding pass," I said.
I had started by subtly searching my bag and flipping through my passport. Obviously it was here somewhere. Usually I put the glorified pieces of paper in a safe place.
The Phase 1 search had failed, so I moved on to Phase 2: In a less than subtle fashion I yanked everything open, dumping random necessities on the seat beside me and established empirically what I already knew instinctively.
My boarding pass had been stolen by an Egyptian mummy while I was in the bathroom and was even now being sold on the black market for replacement bandages and a scrawny cat.
Shit!
"It's somewhere," Addy said. "Look again."
I looked again. The Phase 3 search was remarkably similar to Phase 2, but everything was already sitting out in front of me.
"Nope," I finally said. "Definitely not here."
I don't think in all my years flying I've ever lost my boarding pass. It's just a silly piece of paper you tuck away, show upon request, and move on with life.
It was embarrassing losing it, but it was just a piece of paper.
Shoving everything back into my bag, I grabbed the paper copy of my ticket and my passport and walked up to the gate agent.
He was a tall man, sharply dressed with dark hair and enviable eyelashes. Egyptians definitely won the lottery for perfect eyelashes. Beside the point.
"Can I help you?" he asked, looking bored.
"Sorry," I began, using the word that really should be declared a Canadian national treasure given how often we use it, "but I seem to have misplaced my boarding pass. Would you mind printing me another?"
I pushed the copy of my ticket and my passport onto the desk, looking hopeful. Not that I really felt I should need to, this was a simple request.
"You'll have to go to the check-in desk," he replied.
I paused. I was in the gate area while check-in was on the other side of security. He couldn't be serious.
"Um..."
"We can't print boarding passes here."
Apparently he was serious.
Noting my confusion, he beckoned one of his coworkers, speaking to him in rapid Egyptian Arabic. They glanced at me, then away, then back again.
"Come with me," the second man finally said, waving me after him while taking my ticket and passport in his hand.
Glancing over my shoulder at Mo and Addy, I shrugged and hurried after him.
The gate area was small and about three quarters full. We passed rows of plastic chairs, some passengers watching us while others discussed what I could only assume was world politic by all the hand waving. Reaching the security point, I eyed the one metal detector that everyone was filing through. Unconcerned, the gate agent walked through it and beckoning me to follow.
Bells ringing, I did so, taking the stairs up to the main floor after him. No one gave us a second glance, but no one would. This was Cairo and the airport is notoriously lax on security.
We walked to the Egypt Air check-in counter and while I stood to one side the agents discussed.
Then they frowned at their computer screen for a while.
Then they began arguing.
I noticed in all this that there was no point where printing of a boarding pass appeared to be occurring.
Cue the onset of mild concern. Was it really that difficult to re-print a boarding pass?
Apparently it was. After ten minutes I still had no glorified piece of paper to wave around when I wanted to get on my flight.
"Come with me," the agent said once more. I believe that was his favorite sentence. He still had my passport, so I followed him like a bloodhound.
We walked back through the concourse to security. I hesitated behind the notably shorter line, but he impatiently waved me on once more, ignoring the bells set off as I walked through the metal detector. No one stopped me.
We went back up to the desk where several other agents now joined the discussion. They stood in a pack of four, speaking rapidly as they tried to decide what to do.
Finally, one waved me over and handed me back my passport and ticket. He also handed me my boarding pass.
"Use this," he said.
Then he handed me a torn piece of paper with the seat number, flight number and Asmara airport code hand written in duplicate.
With that they were done with me. I in turn was holding the least official and oddest boarding pass I had ever come across.
When we boarded, the agent took my glorified piece of paper and with a very no-nonsense expression ripped it in half. He gave me my half and kept the other. No questions asked. Just like that I was through the gate and onto the ride.
Unlike the theme parks of my childhood, I don't have to be four feet tall to take a global jaunt (though sometimes when a baby is crying in the seat behind me I wish they would impose that rule). I've also yet to see an airline stamp my wrist, though quite a few nightclubs have (adult carnivals with equally peculiar characters). All the same, the excitement remains each time the flight is called and I fish out my golden ticket.
Next time you fly, try to remember that excitement you felt as a child. As an adult, the world is now your carnival. Rather than treating the boarding process as a test in patience, try instead to savor the anticipation of what is to come.
Think about it.
Remember when you were a kid on summer break. It was ridiculous hot out and you spent happy afternoons eating watermelon, making flower necklaces and building forts in the woods. Then, overnight and with some mystery, the carnival would arrive. Colorful tents and rides were unpacked from enormous trucks with half a dozen wheels, followed closely by accordion-like music that was piped through air thick with the sugary scent of cotton candy.
You begged your parents to go, and when they finally took you to exchange your allowance for that golden ticket it was like a whole new world was suddenly at your fingertips.
As an adult, the carnival doesn't hold the same sort of wonder and mystery (small print: though if you want to be tempted again, "Water for Elephants" and "The Night Circus" are both very enticing reads). You've eaten the cotton candy, seen the bearded lady, and while you have vague memories of being spun around in circles and enjoying it, your stomach now equates those same rides with a bad hangover and acts accordingly.
Luckily, your allowance has grown a bit. You can now look further afield and realize that in many ways the world is now your carnival, and your boarding pass is that golden ticket.
Perhaps it's a first?
- First flight
- First time up front
- First round-the-world flight
- First jaunt on a private jet
Regardless of which it is, just looking at that boarding pass evokes memories of what followed.
For me, my favorite boarding pass is a bit of an oddity. I've used electronic boarding passes as much as paper, some very basic and others feats of artistic wonder. This one though, this one was something else.
It was Cairo airport, October 2011. Mo, Addy and I were waiting at our gate for a flight to Asmara. Having had a seven hour layover, Mo and I had left the airport to take a felucca cruise of the Nile and a shopping trip to the Khan el Khalili. We had met Addy at CAI on our return, grabbed snacks in the food court, and were now impatiently awaiting our flight.
 |
| Countdown to Eritrea. Not sure I've ever been so excited to get on an MS flight... |
It was a night flight and possibly I was a little tired. At least, that's my excuse.
"I can't find my boarding pass," I said.
I had started by subtly searching my bag and flipping through my passport. Obviously it was here somewhere. Usually I put the glorified pieces of paper in a safe place.
The Phase 1 search had failed, so I moved on to Phase 2: In a less than subtle fashion I yanked everything open, dumping random necessities on the seat beside me and established empirically what I already knew instinctively.
My boarding pass had been stolen by an Egyptian mummy while I was in the bathroom and was even now being sold on the black market for replacement bandages and a scrawny cat.
Shit!
"It's somewhere," Addy said. "Look again."
I looked again. The Phase 3 search was remarkably similar to Phase 2, but everything was already sitting out in front of me.
"Nope," I finally said. "Definitely not here."
I don't think in all my years flying I've ever lost my boarding pass. It's just a silly piece of paper you tuck away, show upon request, and move on with life.
It was embarrassing losing it, but it was just a piece of paper.
Shoving everything back into my bag, I grabbed the paper copy of my ticket and my passport and walked up to the gate agent.
He was a tall man, sharply dressed with dark hair and enviable eyelashes. Egyptians definitely won the lottery for perfect eyelashes. Beside the point.
"Can I help you?" he asked, looking bored.
"Sorry," I began, using the word that really should be declared a Canadian national treasure given how often we use it, "but I seem to have misplaced my boarding pass. Would you mind printing me another?"
I pushed the copy of my ticket and my passport onto the desk, looking hopeful. Not that I really felt I should need to, this was a simple request.
"You'll have to go to the check-in desk," he replied.
I paused. I was in the gate area while check-in was on the other side of security. He couldn't be serious.
"Um..."
"We can't print boarding passes here."
Apparently he was serious.
Noting my confusion, he beckoned one of his coworkers, speaking to him in rapid Egyptian Arabic. They glanced at me, then away, then back again.
"Come with me," the second man finally said, waving me after him while taking my ticket and passport in his hand.
Glancing over my shoulder at Mo and Addy, I shrugged and hurried after him.
The gate area was small and about three quarters full. We passed rows of plastic chairs, some passengers watching us while others discussed what I could only assume was world politic by all the hand waving. Reaching the security point, I eyed the one metal detector that everyone was filing through. Unconcerned, the gate agent walked through it and beckoning me to follow.
Bells ringing, I did so, taking the stairs up to the main floor after him. No one gave us a second glance, but no one would. This was Cairo and the airport is notoriously lax on security.
We walked to the Egypt Air check-in counter and while I stood to one side the agents discussed.
Then they frowned at their computer screen for a while.
Then they began arguing.
I noticed in all this that there was no point where printing of a boarding pass appeared to be occurring.
Cue the onset of mild concern. Was it really that difficult to re-print a boarding pass?
Apparently it was. After ten minutes I still had no glorified piece of paper to wave around when I wanted to get on my flight.
"Come with me," the agent said once more. I believe that was his favorite sentence. He still had my passport, so I followed him like a bloodhound.
We walked back through the concourse to security. I hesitated behind the notably shorter line, but he impatiently waved me on once more, ignoring the bells set off as I walked through the metal detector. No one stopped me.
We went back up to the desk where several other agents now joined the discussion. They stood in a pack of four, speaking rapidly as they tried to decide what to do.
Finally, one waved me over and handed me back my passport and ticket. He also handed me my boarding pass.
"Use this," he said.
Then he handed me a torn piece of paper with the seat number, flight number and Asmara airport code hand written in duplicate.
With that they were done with me. I in turn was holding the least official and oddest boarding pass I had ever come across.
 |
| My favorite boarding pass: CAI-ASM |
When we boarded, the agent took my glorified piece of paper and with a very no-nonsense expression ripped it in half. He gave me my half and kept the other. No questions asked. Just like that I was through the gate and onto the ride.
Unlike the theme parks of my childhood, I don't have to be four feet tall to take a global jaunt (though sometimes when a baby is crying in the seat behind me I wish they would impose that rule). I've also yet to see an airline stamp my wrist, though quite a few nightclubs have (adult carnivals with equally peculiar characters). All the same, the excitement remains each time the flight is called and I fish out my golden ticket.
Next time you fly, try to remember that excitement you felt as a child. As an adult, the world is now your carnival. Rather than treating the boarding process as a test in patience, try instead to savor the anticipation of what is to come.
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