Registering for PASS: the deadly game

MONDAY, 17 September 2007

On a slightly overcast Denver Monday morning, I strolled into the Colorado Convention Centre, intent on registering for the PASS conference. I stared in wonderment at the distinctive blue bear, entered the building, and followed the sign for “PASS registration”. I duly approached the registration desk.

“Hi, I’m here to register”

“Great, what Name?”

I allowed a slightly smug note to enter my voice.

“Davis; it’s a press registration”.

“Oh, OK, can I see a business card, please?”

With an impressive flourish, I pulled a card out of my back pocket.

“Thanks, I’ll just pull up the details and print your badge”

At this point another member of the registration staff joined in, muttering that she needed to “check this out”. She stared at my business card with extreme scepticism.

“Simple Talk…never heard of it”

“Oh. I’m sorry. But I am registered for a press pass”

“I don’t think you are.” She gave me the Cagney and Lacey look

I briefly imagined a childhood spent watching crime serials on daytime TV, acting out the fantasy of pursuing dangerous Columbian drug barons. Her ambitions had been thwarted but she was living the dream.

“Yes, I am. I have a full conference pass, which Anna Vue upgraded to a press pass”

“Anna who?”

“Vue, v-u-e.”

“Never heard of her”

Her tight smile indicated that she knew my type, and had exposed my ruse for the shameful deception that it was.

“Well, she is the one who registered me for the press pass”

“Anna Vue does not exist.”

You could almost hear the incidental music. I was out of my depth here. Playing a game for which I didn’t know the rules. I stared at her incredulously.

“Anna Vue does exist”

Fortunately, the original chap intervened at this point and put us out of our misery.

“What conference are you registering for?”

Of course, I was at the wrong registration desk. I turned away feeling slightly depressed and wearied by the confrontation and stumbled on to the real PASS desk. I checked my directions with a security lady, in a once-bitten-twice-shy sort of way.

“Down this way for PASS registration?”

“No straight on and right for registration; down there for lunch…make sure you hurry and get registered then get yourself down for some food, because we stop serving at 1” smiled the security lady, with reassuring kindness.

The real PASS registration went seamlessly and I trotted back round the corner with lifted spirits, and down the stairs for a spot of lunch. The PASS attendant glanced at my newly acquired press badge and directed me to a serving table, laden with silver tureens. Ah, the conference tureen, a sight to strike fear into the strongest heart. I approached them with a due sense of trepidation, but was distracted by the sight of a familiar face. Standing by the table was Rick Heiges. My spirits rose still further. Rick wasn’t exactly a close friend, but I’d met him on several previous occasions and he was a nice guy. I had tried on a couple of occasions to get him to write for Simple-Talk.

“Hi Rick” I beamed”, extending a hand, “Great to meet you again”.

Rick looked distracted. He clearly had other things on his mind.

“Erm, yes, yes. OK. Erm, can you excuse me for a second?”

“No problem”

I returned my attention to the tureens. I peered dubiously into the first one. Was something moving in there? I threw caution to the wind and began ladening my plate with food. I was on to tureen number four when I was distracted again, by a tap on my shoulder.

“Erm, sorry” a second PASS lady said apologetically “Can I just check your badge again…oh, yes, err, you see you’re registered for the Tuesday pre-conference session only, so you get lunch with that…but not today. Sorry if that wasn’t pointed out to you”

It was a firm but tactful reproach. I hadn’t even realised it was a pre-conference session lunch, and the first PASS attendant hadn’t said anything. We were in an awkward spot here. I stood by the gleaming tureens, holding my plate of food uncertainly. She was apologetic, but clearly unsure whether to allow the interloper to go ahead and eat the food he’d already purloined, or to take his plate, send him packing, and scrape the food ceremoniously into the bin, possibly to the sound of faint cheering in the background.

“It’s fine. Go ahead” she said after a few seconds that seemed like longer.

I sat and ate, unsure whether this was victory or defeat. A few moments later the PASS lady returned. She apologised for the awkwardness of what had happened and wondered why “that man had felt the need to intervene”.

It turns out that the sleuth-like Rick had spotted the “T” on my badge (for “Tuesday”) as I approached to shake his hand, and had excused himself in order to alert the relevant authorities.

Later, back in my hotel room, I mused on why Rick had acted in the way he did. We’d met before and he could easily have alerted me to my mistake with a wry smile, and avoided all the fuss and embarrassment.

Viewed dispaasionately, however, one has to acknowledge that Rick had succeeded in unmasking fraudulent use of PASS dining facilities, where others before him had failed. And you’ve got to admire his attention to detail and keen sense of rectitude – qualities that will serve PASS well.

Cagney and Lacey would have been proud.