License to Fly
Originally published June 2005
When I walked out of the tackle store with my new
Oh well! I’d come to
I spent a lot of time hiking up a mountain trail to shoot a waterfall and now that I’d made it back to the car, I was thirsty, hungry and exhausted. I stopped at the first market I found and bought some water and munchies. Piling into the car, I opened my goody sack and pulled out the first bottle of water and drained it. I should have carried some on the trail, but now it tasted sweet and appeased my raging thirst. Figuring the sack would make a good garbage bag, I finished off a second bottle and some Pringles, then stuffed the litter in the plastic bag tossing it on the passenger seat.
When I got to the
I shot at a couple of sites before getting to
By now, you’ve figured out what happened when I went to pay for dinner that evening. The credit card, license and park pass got up and crawled into the trash bag before I threw it away. They say your whole life flashes before your eyes the moment before you die. It was sort of like that when I realized what the consequences of my blunder were. Two horrible realizations struck. The worst was that Anne would never let me live this one down, but more immediate, was that I no longer was in possession of a photo ID needed to board the plane home.
On the phone, the airline people were nice, although I could hear giggling in the background, and were encouraging when I offered to drive to the
“Your other credit cards will work if you have some government document.” Carol the ticket agent offered. “You know, like your Social Security card, a birth certificate, a water bill . . .”
I rummaged through my wallet and memory. I haven’t replaced my Social Security card since my wallet was stolen years ago,
I don’t carry a birth certificate and since I wasn’t leaving the country, I left my passport at home. I had nothing.
Finally I forlornly mumbled “All I have is the
Carol looked at me in a way that a mother looks at a penitent child and with a reassuring voice said, “That’ll do.”
Till next month.