Flashes of Panic

Normally, I show up at a big meet, go to the accreditation center (often “centre”), wave around some government-issued photo ID, and get handed a card to wear around my neck. Never before has the card arrived with me in advance of the meet.

But then, the Olympics is not a normal track meet.

Just as with the application, the degree of care used with the package dropped dramatically once it crossed the Atlantic. I’d given a slightly inaccurate address, and the package was delivered to my neighbor, who had it half open (not signing for it, I assume) before he realized it was for me. He left it on our side-door step, where I only noticed it because Iz was intently watching one of the neighborhood cats who was camped out next to it for a few minutes.

Opening up the package reminded me of the phenomenon of “unboxing” which seems to have come with the fetishization of various technology products. Courier envelope, IAAF envelope, note. Then the BOCOG envelope, containing a slip of paper explaining “to whom it may concern” that “The OIAC will be accepted as a multiple entry visa to China (including Hong Kong SAR and Macao SAR) … along with a valid passport. … Please accept this OIAC as proof of the individual’s entry/exit visa to China.”

And then the OIAC (Olympic Identification and Accreditation Card), easily the most sophisticated credential I’ve ever been issued. It’s visually similar to most credentials, a laminated card about seven inches high by four wide, with an appalling picture of me (extra feature: there’s a copy on the back as well), a number of small squares describing where I’m allowed to go (media transportation, the Olympic Common Domain, whatever that is, the Main Press Centre (sic), and Athletics) along with a big letter code I don’t understand and a bar code. (The bar code is a new one, almost certainly a security feature: it’s more accurate to scan bar codes for access than to eyeball cards.) My passport number is on there somewhere. There may be an RFID wire in the card somewhere, but I can’t tell.

Unusually, there’s no indication of my citizenship. Normally at overseas meets I find the stars and stripes somewhere on my credential; this one simply has my name, the phrase “sport-specific journalist” (which means I can’t use it to get in to the Water Cube, more’s the pity) and the phrase “Pre-IAAF” which apparently means I’m a temporary citizen of the nation of the International Association of Athletics Federations.