PASS(WORD) / FAIL

It's difficult to believe that only five or six years ago, I had little interest in the internet. I was one of those old-fashioned folk who believed the World Wide Web was useless to me, in much the same way I thought ATM's were useless 20 years ago. Of course now I consider both of them indispensible; I can't remember the last time I was in the local branch of my bank to conduct any financial business, and nearly all of my reading, shopping, communication and recreational pursuits are connected in one way or another to the cobalt grey slab of metal from Mr Hewlett and Mr Packard. If I hadn't acquired a taste for the internet you wouldn't be reading this now, but the jury is still out over whether or not that's a good thing.

The bad news is when things go wrong with technology, they can go horribly wrong, as proved Monday morning when I misplaced my pocket-sized telephone and address book. No, it doesn't contain names and addresses of my nearest and dearest (who writes letters these days?); it contains all my internet account user names and passwords. Sure, I can remember a few user name/password combinations such as email and my bank account, but what about all the others, the ones you don't use enough to warrant a permanent slice of brain space? I learned in a terrifying 30 minute search that the loss of the 21st century's version of the "little black book" could mean hours of frustration spent with countless Customer Care Teams trying to sort everything out, and that was a best-case scenario; what it was truly lost only to be found and then used by someone else? That prospect brought on a panic I haven't experienced since I lost my contact lenses three weeks after the expiration of my vision-benefit plan.

Just like the contact lenses though, the book did turn up, found tucked away in the torn pocket lining of a jacket I'd been wearing, but as relieved as I was to find it, I was also troubled at how the loss of this book could cause so much anxiety and chaos in my life. The truth is that practically everything we do online these days, email, banking, mortgage, insurance plans, shopping, forums, newsgroups, ad nauseum is done at the mercy of multiple username and passwords, the volume of which the average person can't possibly be expected to remember. Until someone comes up with a better plan, we're stuck with it though, but to avoid a possible catastrophe, I've devised a back-up plan. Along with my other important papers, I'm keeping a separate list of all my passwords in a fireproof combination-lock box I've just bought.

Hopefully, I won't forget the combination.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, LOVE, THE I.R.S.

Bang on November 1, it started; strange noises emanating from the television set sounding suspiciously like Christmas music. At first I thought I was imagining things because I had just tucked into a piece of leftover Halloween candy, but on setting down the dust rag and taking a peek at the set, there it was, a major retailer reminding me that Christmas is the season for buying.....oops, I meant giving. That's right, Christmas advertising (or "pre-Christmas gift-sellers", if you want to sound like a pro) has already crept its way into our lives.

Now, I really do enjoy the holiday season, but every year it gets longer and longer. I thought it was bad when the selling started after barely digesting Thanksgiving dinner, but now we don't even have time to finish off the pumpkin-shaped marshmallow Peeps none of the kids wanted on October 31. I'm beginning to believe that, in the course of my lifetime, the Christmas season will begin shortly after my birthday in August; it's only a matter of time. Nevertheless, we're stuck with the bombardment of ads until the January "white sales" come around and we will be encouraged to spend even more money we don't have.

On the plus side of this extended holiday season, I got an early Christmas present in the shape of an envelope from the Internal Revenue Service. In as nice a tone as possible, and with as much warmth as the Government could muster, they informed me it's possible I'd made a minor mistake on my '07 tax return, and could they please have the additional $476 I owe them by December 24, thank-you-very-much. I was prepared to meet this governmental onslaught with all the courage and conviction that a woman about to lose $476 could, until I realized that they were right. I had made an error on my '07 tax return, and it was not a minor one. In fact, it was so glaringly obvious I expect to be investigated for tax fraud in the near future.

What surprised me though was just how darned nice the I.R.S. was about the matter. The tone of the notice was almost, dare I say, pleasant. Over the six-page document they explained why I was receiving the notice, what steps I needed to take, what would happen if I didn't respond in a timely manner, and what my payment and dispute options were. They supplied me with the exact information I needed to determine where I was at fault on my original filing, and even told me I may qualify for a discount on the $476 owed based on the information supplied by my financial institution. Christmas came to Huggins House because the information handed me was so thorough that even Donner or Blitzen could have understood it. The parting gift was the name of an actual human being assigned to my case; I did call with a question, and the lady was extremely nice and helpful. She even told me how to save an unnecessary $105 fee by filing paperwork different from what I was planning to file. Happy Holidays, indeed.

So, with holiday-cheerful resignation, I'll pay the taxes owed, but as tempted as I am I don't think I'll be smug and send it to them in a Christmas card to meet their December 24 deadline. In what I can only assume is their best holiday spirit they've been nice this time, but if I irritate them and they discover I've made the same error on my '08 return that exchange may well turn into a July 4 fireworks display.

STROLLING DOWN MEMORY LANE....AT 55 MPH

For as long as I can remember, falling asleep has been difficult. Over the years I've employed a variety of methods to get the job done including prescription sleep aids, working a second job, staying up 'til all hours behaving raucously with friends, and reading the latest edition of The Wall Street Journal online. Each method has worked with varying degrees of success, but lately the simple task of sleep has become more elusive than ever.

I think I may be in good company because many of the things keeping me up nights are most likely shared by many; possible unemployment, financial instability, deadlines, health issues, the upcoming holiday season, and general concerns over the future are probably sending more than a few people to join me for a midnight read of the WSJ.

A few nights ago though, none of the usual sleep aids seemed to work and I again found myself pacing about the house at 1 am. So in absolute frustration, and with the feeling of the house closing in around me, I did something I haven't done in ages; I threw on some slightly grubby clothes, grabbed my drivers license, a few dollars and my keys, and went for a drive.

I used to do this quite a bit when I was younger, and that night I was reminded of how refreshing it is to leave the trappings of day-to-day life behind, albeit only briefly, driving about on the empty roads with only your own thoughts and whatever music is coming from the stereo system. That night my musical tastes were geared for what are now called "golden oldies" (I prefer to call them "timeless classics"), and perhaps because there weren't the usual daytime distractions, some of the tunes brought back instant memory flashes of similar drives many years ago.

The Spinners Games People Play came blasting out of the sound system, reminding me of a midnight drive when I worried how I was ever going to be able to afford the $95.00 monthly rent on my first apartment. Following not far behind on the playlist was Kenny Loggins' I'm Alright, a song that seemed to play continuously on my cross-country move to Los Angeles; a drive memorable not for the sights and adventure of the trip, but for the fact on that drive I worried how I was going to find a job, where I was going to live, and how I was going to eat... From Dionne Warwicke's Heartbreaker to Michael Jackson's Human Nature, it seemed no small coincidence that each song filling the car's interior had some connection with past midnight drives spent with good tunes and a chance to think through life's concerns.

This went on for about an hour, and with gas running low, and the thought of sleep at last not a scary thing, I headed home to the tune of Electric Light Orchestra's Mr Blue Sky, a song that's impossible to hear and not be happy. Then, when I finally pulled into the parking lot and turned off the CD it hit me: the worries and stresses that keep me awake nights now are the same worries and stresses that kept me awake nights then, and despite everything I thought could possibly go wrong with my life, I'm still here.

I don't think I'll wait so long to take another trip down memory lane at 55 MPH. With good music, empty roads and nothing to clutter your mind, it's easy to put things into perspective and remind yourself that, as confused and uncertain as things might seem at the moment, life is going to be just fine, after all.

THE TRUTH BEHIND AIRLINE COUNTER DELAYS

I've been in love with air travel since I can remember, and my first recollection of flight was in the early 1960's on a MATS (Military Air Transport Service) plane en route to join Dad who was stationed in Naples, Italy. The aircraft was prehistoric by today's standards; for example the seating arrangement was to arrange to sit wherever there was a space. The consolation prize to Uncle Sam's Discomfort was my sister and I discovering a serviceman in possession of candy and chewing gum, which we mooched successfully until Mom came to the rescue of the poor Marine. My first recollection of a commercial flight was with with the family en route to somewhere (we were military, after all), and it was, compared to MATS, strictly deluxe; a Pan American prop jet with pretty ladies wearing hats and gloves who were handing out drinks and snacks and free "future stewardess" pins for the girls.

My fascination with air travel was cemented in 1970 when the grand-daddy of all disaster films Airport arrived at my local theatre. With the exception of a mad bomber who blew up the plane at 30,000 feet, the film depicted airports and airlines, and all the people associated with them as a romantic, glamorous, exciting way of life and I decided that at some point, sooner or later, I was going to be a part of it. Unfortunately by the time I became a "part of it" and joined American Airlines some 25 years later, the glamour days of air travel had long gone. In it's place air travel became (to borrow and old theatre term), a "fill and spill"; get as many passengers on an aircraft and do a turnaround trip as fast as possible to maximize profit. Gone were the silver service meals, free postcards and stationary or free "future stewardess" pins. In it's place was, depending on the length of the flight, a meal or light snack, and many travel delays.

Before I worked for an airline I used to complain about air travel delays, but I don't do that anymore. Now I know if there's a delay at a security checkpoint it's more often than not a result of one or more passenger's inability to follow simple instructions such as "have your tickets and identification ready please." I know if the aircraft is late out of the gate it's at Captain's discretion, and it rarely happens unless there's a possible safety issue with the aircraft, and no one should complain about that one. I know if there's a delay at the ticket counter, it could either be a system slowdown, high passenger volume or just possibly a ticket agent trying to find alternate routing for a passenger who's the unfortunate victim of a canceled flight, or some other unforeseen circumstance.

And, if a bag is missing or delayed en route you might be surprised to know that there is an entire network of people dedicated to tracking down missing or delayed baggage using an industry-wide system called BMAS (Baggage Management Analysis System) to keep score. While it's a very effective system, it's not exactly simple so if you're delayed at the Baggage Service counter of any airline, it's because some miserable agent has to type in the acronym-version of Gone With The Wind before your "tracer" is initiated in BMAS.

If you're a frequent flyer out of St. Louis, Boston, Miami or Seattle-Tacoma, then, unfortunately, you're probably familiar with BMAS and don't mind the wait. But for those readers who have never had the BMAS Experience and wonder what's taking that idiot behind the counter so long, here's what a real agent must manually input before a trace on your bag can begin. Bear in mind, this is inputted after the agent has entered the information on you, your location, your contact details and your preferred method of delivery. For the purpose of this demonstration, you are Mr Landau, who traveled from Dallas-Ft Worth to Reagan National Airport in Washington DC on flight 1598 on the third of May:

Here's your passenger itinerary: 1 AA1598Y03MAYDFWDCA2344569200324

Here's a description of your missing bag. If we're lucky, it's only bag one per passenger, not ten as I once had to do. Oh, heck, I think Mr Landau lost three items:
1 DB/L/RD22PSW/LEATHER/GUCCI/LL/LANDAU/SHOES CLOTHES CDS
2 DB/L/BK22/CANVAS/NONE/DL/LANDAU/CHILDRENS ITEMS
3 DB/L/GR70/CLOTH METAL/AL/LANDAU/BABY CART

Here's your check-in counter information from DFW: K/03/00/C/0090/DFW

And, your flight information:
FLIFO*1598-4DFW/OUT0818 OFF0839*0840 2DCA/IN1139 *1147 DCADRD.03MAY.1405

While Mr Landau is yelling at me over the counter because I'm too slow, I check the information from Baggage Service in DFW. Most delays are due to weather conditions or missed connections, but for this demonstration, someone at DFW forgot to load the bags onto the flight, so "oops, we missed the flight so we put 'em on flight 1409" is translated into:
5 BIS ON HND CONF TOT3 BAGCHKD TO AA1409 DFWDCA

Unfortunately, that flight will arrive after Mr Landau has left on another flight to Gatwick Airport in London, so I have to sort out the best way to forward his bags. After some checking, I decide to send the bags on to London on a (fictional) US Airways Flight 232 to New York with a transfer to a (fictional) British Airways Flight 2442 is best, so I enter this:

BO1/AA1598/LANDAU/L/US232/03MAY/JFK/EXP3295728/AA1598/03MAY
/US232/LANDAU/L/BA2442/04MAY/LGW/EXP223298/US232/04MAY
BO2/AA1598/LANDAU/L/US232/03MAY/JFK/EXP229092/AA1598/03MAY
/US232/LANDAU/L/BA2442/04MAY/LGW/EXP240157/US232/04MAY
BO3/AA1598/LANDAU/L/US232/03MAY/JFK/EXP244277/AA1598/03MAY
/US232/LANDAU/L/BA2442/04MAY/LGW/EXP244298/AA1598/03MAY

Done. Now Mr Landau can leave the counter with a receipt (that contains none of this information) and hopefully there are only a few more passengers left waiting behind him.

There's the real truth behind ticketing and baggage counter delays. Airline employees aren't slow, lazy of stupid (I've been called all three names, by the way). For the most part they are thorough and accurate out of necessity, and you can rest assured the fictional person at DFW who made the mistake with Mr Landau's bags will be in seriously hot water over that error. That may not be much consolation as you wait in line, but it may give you a chuckle later, after you've calmed down.

Now, enjoy your flight.