Check It Out

A couple of weeks ago, when I flew to Boston, the TSA had a nice little surprise waiting for me on my boarding pass. When I printed it up, I saw that I had been assigned the TSA “Pre-Check.”

Sweet.

It meant (in case you don’t know- and I know that you do) that:

1.  I could cut the long hoi polloi line to check in at O’Hare.

2. I didn’t have to do a Gypsy Rose Lee turn and take anything off before I could clear security.

But on my return homeward trip, I found that the TSA had given- and the TSA had taken away.  I did not receive the pre-check clearance, and so I glumly resigned myself to stripping off my shoes and belt- and anything else- in order to proceed to my gate.

Surprise!  When I walked into Logan Airport, there was an announcement.  No one had to take anything off to get clearance that afternoon.

A cheer went up airport-wide.

Touched By Angel Sidebar:  My flight outward Boston-bound was scheduled for 7:14 a.m. This meant a 6:47 a.m. boarding time, and that meant a 5:00 a.m. departure from my house.

(And all this meant that I got no sleep the night before.)

At five I was rarin’ to go, and so I called my trusty Uber.  The drive to O’Hare through the still-empty Chicago streets was eerie, but surprisingly peaceful and mercifully quick.

As I mentioned, thanks to the gift of the TSA, I breezed through security.  And although my boarding pass said “Gate B20,” I immediately checked the board to confirm that there hadn’t been a last-minute change.

Nope, there it was.  Boston- Gate B20.  And so I leisurely strolled through the airport to hunker down at my gate and do the Friday New York Times crossword.

Boarding time was 6:47, but at 6:35 there was still no gate agent and no equipment.

Uh oh.

“Excuse me. Are you going to Boston?” I asked the gentleman sitting near me.

“No, I’m going to Detroit,” he answered.

UH OH.

I leaped up and checked the board.  There it was- Gate B20.  But then I looked up.  Another earlier Boston flight- Gate B2.

Now I was running through O’Hare.  (Dismissing from my mind all unfortunate images of O.J. Simpson and his Hertz ad, and the unpleasant thought that if I had a heart attack, I’d never get to meet my new grandson.)

As I barreled into the new gate, they were just boarding my section.  I flung myself into the line- edging in ahead of a blonde woman who had dawdled momentarily.

My heart was still racing from my mad dash but I remembered my manners.

“I’m so sorry that I butted in,” I apologized.  “But I was waiting at the wrong gate and I was so afraid that I was going to miss this flight.  And I just can’t.”

The blonde smiled.

“That’s perfectly okay,” she said with the slightest trace of an accent.  “I understand.”

We went up the jetway together and we talked.  And as we laughed and joked about airport nonsense, I was enraptured.  She was really a knockout.  Swedish, I was guessing.

Our seats weren’t together and we made our separate ways to our places.

I didn’t give her another thought.

But, on my return trip, as I was sitting in the gate area checking my email, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder.  I was startled.  I knew no one at the airport.

It was my beautiful blonde from O’Hare.  And she was in an United Airlines uniform.

“You’re at the right gate this time,” she smiled and reassured me.  And then she drifted away.

The whole thing felt so benevolent and dream-like.  Maybe it was the Dramamine.  Or maybe a celestial being was watching over me to make sure my trip went great.  (And it had.  Charmed from beginning to end.)

Anyhow back to this week…

That little taste of airport freedom made me hungry for more.  And now, I just had to have have it.  A KTN.  (“Known Traveler Number,” if any of you aren’t down with the acronym.)

I went on-line and filled out a TSA Pre-Check form.  Here it is- in case any if you decide to do it.

My nearest center for finger-printing and paying the $85 fee (good for five years) was in the First National Bank Plaza on Madison Street.  They weren’t accepting any appointments for the next forty-five days, but they did say that they would take walk-ins.

I was up for that.  I would have crawled in, if need be.  I wanted that pre-check.  And so armed with my passport and the $85, I made sure I was there on the stroke of ten a.m. (First available time to process walk-ins.)

As I rode up the first escalator, a guy with an actual ten a.m. appointment rode with me.

“Wow,” he whistled.  “You look great.”

“Thanks,” I said.  “I wanted my most responsible outfit- like in Clueless- when I meet these guys.”

“You do look real responsible,” he concurred.  “But wait a minute, wouldn’t that be exactly the same outfit a terrorist would chose if he didn’t want to look like a terrorist?”

“Shhh!  Don’t say that!  Yeah, and I thought of that, too.  Don’t jinx me.  I really want this thing,” I pleaded.

We walked into the TSA office.  I let him go first, but they actually took us into the the pre-interview together.  And together we handed over our passports and our credit cards.

Then they called his name, and off he went to a second location.

In a few minutes, my name, too, was called, and in I went.  They already had all my info logged onto a computer screen.  I checked it to make sure it was correct, and now it was time for the electronic finger-printing part of the business.

That was the only hard part of the day.  My fingers were too small to fit the pad correctly, and it took three or four times to get them to leave the right impression.

The TSA agent was patient and sweet about it.  I was starting to get nervous.  I could see my KTN disappearing all because I have inadequate printing skills and I was panicking.

“Don’t worry, we”ll get it,” the nice lady assured me.

Finally, all the prints took.  Whew.

“Here’s your receipt and the number to enter in on our website.  It usually takes twenty-one days to process the application, but check on your status in a few days- it’s been running two or three- and see if you’ve got your Known Traveler Number.”

And she smiled and I walked out.

I checked on it today.  And guess what, dear readers?

I got it!

Somewhere a blonde angel is smiling.