A Crisis of Identity

It is my observation that the business of producing lanyards must be booming.

I refer of course to those thin looped straps worn around the neck and used primarily nowadays to hold an identity card, door security key or similar.

Just about everyone that you see in daylight working hours sports one of these.

It could just be a modern phenomena borne out of the need to confirm not just identity but as a very visual expression of having a bona-fide reason for being somewhere and doing something.

There is a certain style to the wearing of a lanyard so as to convey professionalism and competence to those around you. I managed to work without one for the last 30 years but my badged up and Company Logo endorsed version is one of the first things that I seek out and put on at the start of a week day.

During the last three decades I was never challenged on my identity or purpose in a particular environment.

Perhaps the fact that I was dressed in a shirt and collar with tie, suit and shiny shoes gave me a certain authority and even an intimidating persona which just opened doors and gave me unquestioned access to all areas of homes, shops, factories and every type of property in between.

The actual history of the lanyard is quite interesting being mainly associated from its 15th Century origins with the military. The derivation of the name is thought to come from medieval French meaning a thong or strap.

In warfare a lanyard was used as part of an artillery battery as the means by which to arm the fuse of a cannon. It has a strong association with all things naval and referred to a piece of rigging to secure objects.

In more modern battle situations it was used to pull out the cotter pin to arm a bomb and those grainy and stuttering images of a First World War battlefield often show an army officer type with his faithful pistol attached to a more substantial leather lanyard so that it was less likely to get lost in the quagmire of the trenches and no-mans land.

My own lanyard has developed a mind of its own.

I cannot explain the mechanics of what happens but between 3pm and 4pm every day my identity card and its stout plastic holder somehow detach themselves from the sturdy spring loaded clip and fall to whatever surface is beneath me.

This occurs without fail and is beginning to not just annoy me but worry me as well.

I have speculated that in the middle of a working afternoon as my energy is sapped I start to stoop a little in my stance and this may squash the clip against my manly barrel chest causing the release.

Other theories of mine are that it simply snags on my notepad clipboard when I am, again, flagging a bit and not paying attention or simply does it out of some sort of inanimate object mischief.

Yesterdays involuntarily release caused no end of problems and embarrassment.

After having flashed the badge to the homeowners on their doorstep I spent some forty minutes or so inspecting every part of their detached property.

This included my usual 360 degree circling of the exterior (a luxury only permitted by a detached status), a ramble up and around the garden and in and out of any outbuildings and then a room to room, floor by floor systematic survey of the interior culminating in a head and shoulders check of the roof void.

I have a good and logical approach to each inspection but inevitably there are potential distractions such as an attentive and curious owner, inquisitive or annoying children and over enthusiastic domestic pets, all of which can divert attention from, in this case, the precise moment that my ID card dropped off the lanyard.

It was not until I had reached the following appointment after a 30 minute drive that I noticed that it was missing.

A frantic search of the car, inside and under was inconclusive. I backtracked in my mind to recollect my movements in the preceding hour plus twenty time frame.

It had to be at the detached house.

Pulling up on the kerb I had a quick scan to where I had parked earlier. It had been school pick up time in that neighbourhood and so I imagined a small child using the ID card in a role play session in the privacy of their own home.

My embarrassment at ringing the bell again was acute.

The owners were however most sympathetic and understanding and allowed me to repeat my earlier intensive inspection without any quips or remarks,

Family members even took to the back garden and outbuildings on my behalf. There was, for a few moments, a search party of 6 of us.

I even popped my head up into the loft to see if the card had snagged on the top of the stowaway ladder. It had not.

I was by now resigned to the fact that I would have to go through the drawn out process of ordering a replacement.

The owners took my office address and said that if they came across it they would be sure to send it on.

For all of the meticulous retracing of my steps I had a bugging feeling that I had missed something.

As I turned at the front door to thank the five persons for their efforts I saw the door of the understairs cupboard.

I had stuck my nose in there to look at the fuse box and gas meter.

The assembled group must have thought I was a bit obsessive in the quest for the card and stood aside as I made a final lurching movement for the pine door nestled under the balustrade.

Staring up from its resting place on the Ewbank carpet sweeper was my holiday photo, taken on a boat in the middle of a Scottish Loch which had been the only one out of a few hundred that I had liked to confirm my identity.

I could have danced a jig and whooped and a-hollered but out of respect for my professionalism I said my farewells and left.

Suffice to say I have since soldered shut the spring clip.