It was a last-minute thing. Normally, I’d have left it until I got to the airport, for the ticket agent to handle. You know, like the old days. But then I thought, what if there’s a real line up at one of those dreaded airline kiosks? What if it takes me longer than normal to get my baggage checked? So, instead, I decided to face the demon now, instead of later. I keyed in the airline name and began the clinical, faceless, robotic process of self-check-in.
“Check in from your computer and print your boarding pass,” the prompt said. “No printer? No problem. Print it at the self-serve kiosk when you get to the airport.”
But isn’t that why I chose to check in via my computer ahead of time? To avoid all that kiosk stuff later? Oh well, I was into it now. Off I went, tripping though window after window of relentless identification detail after mind-numbing query. What’s my name? Flight number? Any dangerous goods? Had I been to a farm lately? Blah, blah, blah. All, so that I could get to my flight faster. And, incidentally, so that they could have me haul out my credit card and pay them another $56 to get my baggage to my destination!
I’m not complaining about mindless technology again. This column is about how we’ve all apparently bought into the notion that online is not only easier, but also more efficient and even better than the old way. We’re saving man/woman hours. We’re being more efficient with fewer resources. We’re reducing the use of paper. We’re saving the planet. And we’re being better people for doing it the new way. Well, I’m not so sure. Have you tried getting government documentation lately?
Just this week, as a continuing function of my work researching history, I phoned Library and Archives Canada, in Ottawa. In the old days, on the phone I would speak to any of a number of LAC archivists I knew by name. Following some discussion, s/he would help me track down the photos in question. I would be sent the reprography and permission documents. I’d fill them in. And Bob’s your uncle. Done. This time, however, I descended into voicemail hell.
“Please listen carefully,” the voice said reassuringly. “Our selections have changed. Choose from the following eight options.”
After listening to the entire playback of all eight options, I came up empty-handed. What I needed wasn’t among them. Consequently, the voice told me, I’d have to go online in search of “additional” options. When I found my option via computer – reproduction of photographs – I began filling in all those required blocks of info: photo titles and descriptions, registration numbers, file references, photographic credits. Eventually, about four menu pages in, it asked how I was going to pay. I checked a box. It didn’t like that choice. I tried another. It didn’t like that one either. I was stymied. Then, it told me that my time on the LAC site was about to expire. No kidding. I was about to expire!
And I began to reminisce about all the things we used to be able to do that didn’t require an app, that didn’t have to be keyed in on a touch-tone phone, or that didn’t demand a PhD in electronic engineering to comprehend on a computer. I blame those guys at Yellow Pages who came up with the motto all those years ago: “Let your fingers do the walking…”
Remember when you drove into a gas station, the wire you drove over rang a bell inside the station bay, and an attendant dashed out to fill your gas tank and maybe washed your windshield? In lieu of online banking, I happen to like going to my Credit Union and chatting with the folks who handle my deposits or help me pay my bills. I avoid the self-checkout aisle at the grocery store on principle; I believe that self-checkout eliminates paying jobs. And while we’re talking about phone use, remember when you could talk to a Directory Assistance operator in Saskatoon or San Francisco about the weather or the price of a coffee there and get the number too?
I’m not convinced that life driven by apps, cell-phone tapping, and self-service only, is the best thing since sliced bread. (I happen to like seeing my bread sliced personally at the bakery, by the way).
So, when I got to the airport and I checked in at the kiosk (they suggested I could avoid), the prompt directed me to another allegedly time-saving, efficiency-plus system – the baggage self-drop-off. Again, there were no people to help me when I didn’t understand. Again, there were more mindless steps to follow. And I still ended up afraid I’d miss my flight.
Why – at this stage of my life – do I have to be expected to function like a millennial and like it?
