In the very old days, going to the cinema involved the purchase of a ticket, and that Ticket was in fact a small piece of printed paper, approx 5cm x 2cm. The kiosk (where the ticket was issued) was typically some way from the actual entrance to the viewing room, and it was common for there to be dozens of people milling around in the foyer - people who had yet to pay and get their tickets. Against this backdrop, it seemed reasonable for there to be an employee at the door (to the room with the screen in) who tore in half each ticket presented. This stopped people sneaking in.
Now compare that to Ryanair and what happened last Sunday. The new way of things is for passengers to print off boarding passes, so getting past the security chap (who was sitting, bored out of his skull) and entering the 'snake' was possible with a subtle flash of our two A4 sheets of paper. It wasn't, of course; a piece of paper is indistinct unless you look properly at it. After a battle with the "Security" process, and a short wait in a lounge, it was time to board at the relevant gate. As usual, a queue formed, and at the head of the line was a woman in a blue uniform that didn't fit. Well, that's not fair on the uniform; it did of course fit someone, someone of the appropriate size, but it most certainly did not fit the heffer who'd put it on that morning. When at last it was time to hand over our two A4 sheets of paper to 'heffer', I watched in amazement as she ripped them in the messiest fashion I've ever seen. They were not ripped in half, but an 'approximation of half', and just as a playground bully might snatch your homework and rip it in half, she presented all the remnants to me. I pondered whether she'd have managed if I'd handed her a Telephone Directory, and on reflection, thought that it too would have been mullered and handed back in bits. So, Ryanair basically employed someone to stand there and rip paper in half before handing it back.
Six yards behind her, another employee was collecting something. Six paces later, I became aware that she wanted the bottom 'half' of each sheet. She was about 5'5" and nine stone, so was clearly unable to manage paper tearing - especially two sheets at a time. So this pointless extra step meant I examined the mess in my hand, and offered two of the remnants. Considering Ryanair is known for cost cutting, I'm amazed that one multi-functional person couldn't be found to tear bits of paper in half, and then keep one of them. It's not as if there were any expectations from passengers to watch an employee model a Swan, using A Level Origami!
The paper trail continued. After being herded down a walkway and a tunnel, we all then found ourselves on the tarmac, queuing to walk towards the plane. Entry to the plane was via a glorified 'loft ladder'. It was slightly larger than a loft ladder, but not by much. Stepping on to the plane, I was required to present the two remaining scraps of paper, and the attendant (distracted by the phone) made the most pathetic mark on each with her biro. Imagine you are on the phone and holding a pen, and I hold a couple of bits of paper near you in mid air. With a force no greater than that required to tickle a tapeworm, you need to make a tiny mark somewhere on the paper as I move away. Fuckin' ludicrous, eh? Still, these rigorous steps helped us all fly safely. I sat down, and read the only useful piece of paper in the whole process - the Sunday paper.
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