The Meaning of Life and Other Vegetables

It happens every time.

Well, not every time, but a lot. So much, that when it doesn’t, you’re surprised. “Hmmm, that was easy… I wonder how come I got lucky this time…?”

Scenario: You try to interact with a modern system. Machines, computers, software, electronics, scanners… but also procedures and processes, and people. You’d think normally they’d all be synchronized. The procedures well thought through and fine-tuned. The people trained and well equipped, maybe even motivated with the right incentives. And the machines and computers, state of the art. Right?

But time and again, it doesn’t work. Correction: It almost works. Or it works, but not as intended… Not as you’d reasonably expect, anyway. The job gets done, eventually; but the process involves so much stress and awkwardness and makeshift and troubleshooting and problem-solving. So, you end up almost expecting this bad experience. “Today I will interact with this system, and it will go well to a point, and from there on, who knows?… And I’ll have to improvise and beg for help and get frustrated and anxious, and in the end we’ll somehow figure it out – myself and the poor people charged with this…” Yes, those people who are part of that system.

Why does it have to be this way?

Here’s a recent one. I show up at a large, busy, international airport in Japan. It doesn’t really matter where, because I’ve been through similar things (and worse) in half a dozen other airports, in other countries, in several different continents. America, Europe, Australia…

Anyway, my job today it to drop off my check-in luggage. I’ve already checked-in online several hours earlier. Thank goodness, that went okay (online check in can easily go wrong too, but that’s for another time). Easy peasy, right? Wrong.

I’m past the terminal sliding doors, where the hotel shuttle bus dropped us off. Ideal spot to get started, you’d think. Where do I go? Not a problem; blood pressure still low, heart rate normal, no sweat. I look for monitors, or signs, or something. I see a large monitor with dozens of airline logos on it, divided into two groups. Instinctively, I look for mine, though I’m not sure yet where this is leading. Singapore Airlines. Takes me 10 seconds to find it – there are many. What next? I notice that the groups are titled “South” and “North”. Very illuminating, considering I’ve never been there before. I look around a bit more, and I spot a terminal map, a bit of way away. “You are here”, it says. Thank goodness. I’m here! I exist! Great, now look for South, because that’s where Singapore Airlines is. Found it. A few more seconds to orientate, and I’m on the move. Easy.

A short stroll and I’m in the South hall. It’s huge. Now what?… Again, look for monitors or signs. Singapore Airlines baggage drop off is at D. Great, on we go. I get to the D area. What a mess. Rows of counters, provisional barriers made of extendable ribbons, tons of people. Staff wearing uniforms of every colour and design, running around looking busy. I stand there baffled for a moment. Then I notice a sign with the Singapore Airlines logo, saying “Baggage drop off (already checked in)”, or something along these lines. It’s not very noticeable, right in the middle of the mess. And there’s a uniformed lady standing at the provisional queue entrance. Awesome, I found it! Gonna be smooth sailing from here on. She is talking to a family with a few children, obviously trying to work out something. But not to worry! That’s them. I’m sorted. I checked in, I have my luggage right here, I did my homework, I know the size and weight limitations and I’m safely within. Just a matter of a few more minutes and it’ll all be smoothly over. There are two more people standing to the side. Are they in the queue or not…? Not clear. It’s only an opening in the ribbons and that little gathering. Why should it be clear, huh? It’s an airport, right? Never mind, I take my position and wait. Heart rate still normal, nothing to worry about.

Okay, the family is done. The other two people just stand there and chat, apparently not interested in going in, so I approach the lady. Failure point number one. “Do you have a boarding pass and your luggage tag?” Yes to boarding pass. I checked in online, right? I have it on my phone, because I’m such a tech badass. But luggage tag…? No. I foolishly assumed I’d get it once I’m inside the ribbons. There are kiosks all over the place, and they are scattered around such that you can’t readily tell which is which, what each type is for, which ones you need to approach and in what order. No clear signage to guide you. Heart rate slightly elevated. Maybe I should have been more careful, should have walked around the D area and familiarized myself before arrogantly approaching the entrance…? Hubris will get you every time.

Okay, U-turn, back to the nearby kiosk. Get my baggage tag printed, and also paper boarding passes for good measure. I have them already on my phone, but the old anxiety is already creeping – this will probably not work as intended, so  better have a fall back. Now, with my head held high, I reapproach the lady again. Thank goodness there is no one there and she is happy to deal with me right away. Boarding pass? Here, I still have it in my hand. Baggage tag? There you go. She takes it off me and confidently slips it around the suitcase handle on the top (the short side). Is that right? I vaguely remember it needs to be on the long side, but hey, she knows what she’s doing. Right? And anyway, every airport is different, every airline is different and what do I even know. On you go now. I’m in!!! Haven’t even started what’s supposed to be a casual, brief, insignificant step at the very beginning of my air travel leg, and I’m already distressed.

I look around. In front of me, a row of about a dozen drop-off stations. Some travelers are around, and some staff too. I don’t pay attention, just randomly pick a vacant station that is nearby. Everything seems normal. Nice and calm. I look at the touch screen, touch it in the right spots, and get to the stage in which I place the suitcase on the belt. Right in front of me, engraved on the back glass wall (very elegant, by the way), I see a clear illustration of a suitcase lying on it’s side with the tag hanging off the handle now on top – the one on the long side. I glance at my actual suitcase sitting there, and the tag is to the side, on the short end. Trying to dismiss the thought, heart rate imperceptibly rises. Stop being such an anxious wreck. The lady did it, and she knows. Now, a display above the belt says 25.1kg. Great, my allowance is 30kg. Did my homework, already told you that. But hey, the touch screen says 22.2kg. Does it matter? Probably not, just another micro piece of information to fuel my rising anxiety. Don’t worry, this will all soon be over.  Now I wait. Something needs to happen. But nothing does. I begin to wonder, what’s wrong? Then it occurs to me that the scanner might not be able to detect my luggage tag because it’s in the wrong spot. A quick look at the setup (so good I’m such a techy) reveals a weird little detector placed in an unusual spot in an unusual angle – looking at my suitcase roughly where the misplaced tag is. Ha! It happened before, and someone already highlighted it, and someone else already problem-solved. Whadia know. Systems in action, self-correcting, self-improving. Only it’s a makeshift, and it doesn’t actually see my tag. Not to worry, I’m here to help. I manipulate my suitcase so now it’s sitting at an angle. No good. I manipulate the tag, so it’s right in front of the detector. The machine comes back to life, we’re back in business. Yes! I did it! I’m a true child of the 21st century. So proud of myself.

Then failure point number two (and a half?) hits. The touch screen says: “Your baggage is over the size limit. Please approach staff for assistance.” What??? Really? No, it’s not. I did my homework. It’s a standard sized check-in suitcase and I even measured it and made sure (a hundred times) that I had the numbers right. Do they mean the weight is above the limit? Who knows?… Anything is possible here.

Okay, I take my suitcase off the belt and leave it on the floor next to the touch screen. The lady at the entrance is not far away, I’ll just walk over and ask her. Not a problem. She’s not even busy with anyone. I walk over and say “Excuse me, I put my suitcase on the belt and it said my luggage is over the size limit. What should I do?” I gesture with my head towards my suitcase, about 5m away from us. She glances at it and seems confused. But she gets her grip quickly and follows protocol. “I’m sorry, you need to ask someone from the airline”. Not her job, apparently. She’s on the boarding passes and baggage stickers (and she’s very good at it). She nods towards another uniformed lady, about 30m away from us, at the very end of the drop off stations row. That lady is busy with a group of people and doesn’t seem too fresh or keen to help anyone.

I walk back to my suitcase, confused, not sure how to proceed. Then I notice a third uniformed lady walking along the row and approaching my spot (by the way, they each have different uniforms, clearly communicating – subconsciously – that they are not part of a single team, and there is additional complexity to be handled here). Awesome! She can help. She wants to help. Must be. Her job is to help. “Excuse me, I have a problem with this machine…?”; “Which airline are you flying with?”; “Singapore Airlines”; “Sorry, I’m with ANA. I can’t help you. You have to ask someone from Singapore Airlines”. And she gestures in the direction of the busy lady at the end of the row, still trying to help that group of passengers. You can’t even tell by their uniforms who is which. They’re all uniformed like some general airport staff. Maybe they wear tiny tags. Not exactly suitable for my anxious condition right now. Anyway, now I know that my lady is the one really busy over there.

I glance back at the lady at the entrance. She’s not busy. She looks back at me and I can swear she’s just as miserable. Her look says to me “I feel your pain”. Haha. She’s not that far, so from near the touchscreen at the belt I ask her “Should I try a different machine?”, and I nod at the one on my other side, that is luckily free. She is relieved and replies “Yes, try another one”. Of course she would.

I hop over and start again. A few touches on the screen and I’m back to placing the suitcase on the belt. Same numbers – again, different readings. Who cares? Just let me get past this experience. Will it alert that my suitcase is oversize?… No, it doesn’t, this time. Phewf. Another touch or two on the screen and we’re outa here. Wrong. A message displays: “Your luggage is heavy.” Duh?!… My allowance is 30kg, of course it’s heavy. And – and – your scale says it’s only 25kg, so what the hell?… “A heavy baggage tag is being printed out for you, please attach it to your luggage”, and a nice animation of an orange sticker coming out of the console is playing on screen. So much fun. More challenges. Who knows what my heart rate or blood pressure is; I’m too busy to think about that now. Welcome to modern systems 101. This is prime time. Hope you have your popcorn and your Coke ready.

Orange tag comes out of the machine. I totally get it. Workplace Health and Safety, and all that jazz. Two persons are required for lifting my bag, and they need to be warned about it. Never mind that probably no one will care. A fit fella will lift my luggage casually and chuck it somewhere without even noticing, because how heavy a standard-sized check-in luggage can be?… The system wouldn’t let anything >30kg through anyway. I know, I know, they have rights and their safety and wellbeing matter. I don’t dispute that. Just being realistic. I’m a 55 years old small guy, not particularly strong or fit, and I managed to lift that suitcase without difficulty. Never mind. Orange tag it is, just how it should be.

Failure point number three (skipping a few as we go; don’t be pedantic). I slip the orange tag through my suitcase handle, the one on top now (as the illustration shows), and I turn to peel off the sticker backing… only it’s extremely difficult. It has a red, very enticing tab that says “Peel here”, and I want to; I really do. It looks so easy, so neat. Well designed. Only problem, it won’t budge. Recruiting all my mental and physical facilities, I give it a good fight, and eventually it gives in. I managed to start the peeling process!!!… My engineer brain already expects the satisfying feeling of that section of sticker backing coming off neatly, just where it’s supposed to, so I could fold it over and stick it to the other end (not a simple task in itself, mind you, as anyone who’s ever done it knows all too well). But alas, it doesn’t. It randomly tears and stays there loosely hanging, annoyingly in the way of folding back and sticking on. I struggle not to let panic set in, scrunch it with grace, and manage to finally complete the task. There! My beautiful orange tag is placed. Now we can all go home, right?

No. I look back at the touch screen, and it looks oddly familiar, but not in a good way. It reverted back to the welcome screen. As if I’ve never been there. Noooo!… Do I have to start all over? Apparently. Okay. I’m now airport hardened. Taking a deep breath, I begin again. Everything goes smoothly and quickly this time – I’m already inducted, and all problem-solved, and grown up. Then I get to the step where the machine spits out another orange tag… Reminder: I already have one on my suitcase, from 3 minutes ago. They don’t look all that different. There’s a bold, large print saying it’s heavy, >25kg, and a barcode. The purpose of this tag is to inform workers (or equipment) that it’s heavy; not to identify me, the flight, my destination or else. That’s already encoded in the basic, white luggage tag. Or so I think…? Apparently, I’m wrong. When I hit the button to confirm that I’ve attached the orange tag (smart ass; I left the old one in place and the new one is still in my hand), the system puts me on the spot: “A previous heavy baggage tag has been detected; please remove and attach the new tag provided.” Well, what do you know. Technology in seamless action. Only they forgot about the poor, confused and anxious passenger, who’s apparently not a factor in this.

Obedient, and humbled by the machine, I rip off the old orange tag, and all I can think is “Quick! You have to complete this before it times out!” Then again… I slip the new orange tag under, and the battle re-commences to peel off the backing. But as above, I’m already airport weathered. This tag won’t beat me. I manage to peel, scrunch, fold, stick; just in time to swing back to the touch screen and hit the confirmation button before the console restarts. I feel infinitely accomplished and happy. A kind of nirvana starts to spread. My mind completely shuts off the option of additional failure points. A protection mechanism, most likely.

A few seconds pass and the belt moves. My luggage clumsily disappears in the intake chute. I stand there baffled for a moment, before realizing that it’s actually over. The battle had been won. Then I stumble and walk away. Dizzied, I can barely find the way out of the ribboned enclosure.

Next up, Security.

Nooooo