Progress

On Thursday, I ventured to Plaza Vea for a shopping trip of goodies to get us through the weekend. I took Justin with me to help pick out birthday presents for Anna Ball and her twin brothers, Sam and Isaac, for their party on Saturday. I usually try not to take my purse out with me when I am not with John, since one never knows when another one might be tempted to take one's purse from one's arm forcibly (that was the nicest way I could say it), so I grabbed my credit card (for the purchases) and my carnet (that little card that is necessary for all things from using one's credit card, to picking up one's packages at the post office, to leaving the country, to breathing) and my taxi money, put them in various pockets and headed out.

Justin and I did our shopping, picked out birthday presents and took our full basket to the front to a checkout. As we were unloading our stuff on the little conveyor belt thing, we grabbed a pack of Mentos and began to eat them as soon as they had passed over the little scanner thing. The checkout gal finished, and gave me my total. I reached into my pocket to pull out my dos pieces of plastic only to discover that I had yes, grabbed my credit card, but no, did not grab my carnet. I had grabbed my debit card instead.

I began to get mentally prepared for "the problem."

Me: "Oh no! I accidentally brought the wrong card! My carnet is at home. But look, it's the same name on both cards. See? It's me! And...I know my carnet number."

(I didn't think this would work, because remember my pre-voyage to Santiago experience with immigration in the Lima airport? Carnet numbers can't be systematically pulled up from a computer. It's just not possible...but I thought I would try anyway. I couldn't just give up easily.)

Checkout gal: "You don't have any other identification card?"

Me: "Ummm...no."

Checkout gal: "I'm going to have to call someone."

Me: "Of course."

She calls and some guy comes over. As they are talking back and forth to each other I am really having dejavu from my pre-voyage to Santiago via Buenos Aires. The only things missing are Allen saying, "Don't say anything...just act like nothing is wrong." And Jami rubbing my back saying, "It's gonna be ok, don't worry." Nope, I was not going home with my groceries.

Guy: "You don't have another identification card?"

Me:"I still don't, but," I added feebly, "I do know my number."

Guy: "What is it?"

Me:"What?"

Guy: "What is your identification number?" as he stands at the keyboard, his hand poised for action.

Me: "ummmm...00039...no..69...no...63...um, can I write it down?"

I suddenly couldn't get the numbers straight in my head - I think it was shock -but after my "I know my number, I know my number" I thought, if I didn't tell them now, I might be arrested for attempted fraud.

I managed to get it straight after three attempts, and the guy punched it in, waited a second, then said, "Ok."

Me: "What?"
Guy: "You can go ahead."

As I was processing shock number 2, the gal finished up with my then passable credit card, the guy put my bags in the basket and they both sent me on my merry way with a " gracias, buenas tardes."

I gave them several "muchisimo gracias" in return, and Justin and I left the store, groceries in hand.

In the taxi, I turned to Justin and said, "I can not believe that just happened! They had my number IN THE SYSTEM! WOW! That's progress."

Justin replied, "Well, it's a good thing they let us through, because we had already opened the Mentos."

Hmmmm...that would have been a problem.

So, now I only wonder...could Immigration link up to Plaza Vea's very progressive system? That would be very nice...and very progressive.