Turbulence And Clearance

I have achieved TSA—Transportation Security Administration—clearance. This sounds like a big deal but legally it isn’t. Not compared to the sweeping, national and international travel privilege of Global Entry clearance, but that can only be accomplished by an appointment made at JFK or Logan Airport –where I am never.

I am at JFK sometimes, doggedly headed for a departing plane and I cannot conceive of, at the same time, including an appointment for ID photos, Social Security checks, fingerprinting—all five of them—plus a questionnaire as to my legal/illegal behavior.

So last week friends and I went to the nearby New Haven office to get ourselves cleared for shorter TSA security lines and no shoe removal while traveling within the United States. It seemed better than nothing.

Appointments were not available until February so we took a chance and were walk-ins. And it worked! Having pre-enrolled online, we had already answered the questions as to passport numbers, the permanence of our residence, our lack of prison experience or arrests for various violations. (If we answered “yes” to the prison-related questions, the form politely suggested that we not apply for clearance.)

Luckily for us, some people were no shows and the three of us were fitted into the schedule and processed in two hours.

I was called first in our group and immediately ran into complications. For example, I have had passports under three different names. (Men do not have to deal with this issue.)

In addition, years ago I broke the little finger of my left hand during a sailing race in the UK and it has never completely realigned itself with the other four fingers. To get it to behave properly for the fingerprinting, I had to force it in and against my fourth finger and then press it down hard to straighten it onto the lighted glass plate.

I had handed over all my vital information; I had answered multitudinous questions and I had checked that everything printed out on the huge computer screen in front of me was correct, when,  the nice woman, who had been very pleasant while I struggled to corral my errant little finger, looked up and asked me my social security number.

Blank. I went completely blank. I just stared at her.

Pause.

“You can’t remember it?” She asked.

“No,” I stammered. I was frantically clicking “Search” in my brain and coming up with “No Results.”

My mind whirled. This is it; I am toast. I’ve done all this annoying stuff and now I have failed. I won’t get my pass because I cannot remember the stupid SS number! A bloody “senior moment.” The time and effort wasted. My friends would get their clearance and I was going home embarrassed and empty handed.

“It’s not in my head,” I murmured. “It’s completely gone.”

She sort of smiled and leaned back into her chair behind her enormous desk.

Maybe this has happened before? I wondered, trying to make myself feel better. Maybe I am not the only idiot she has interviewed?

Suddenly a blessed lightening flash of memory: It’s on my Medicare card in my pocketbook. Yes!  But my pocketbook had remained in the waiting room with my friends.

“I have it! I have it!” I cheered, scraping back my chair. “I’ll be right back!”

My blood pressure returned to normal as I held my Medicare card carefully in my left hand and typed the numbers into the black box on the edge of the desk. Twice. (I typed them incorrectly the first time.)

 She hands me the paper; I was cleared.

I tell myself that this mix-up could have happened to anyone, but the truth is, it happened to an already nervous senior citizen who catapulted herself into a peak anxiety experience.

Sigh.

***

FYI: The TSA office is located at 446 Blake St. in New Haven.