Swollen feet, friendly card game: Longest morning at world’s busiest airport
The line spilled outside in the dark, and a boy spilled his fresh-cut pineapple on the dirty concrete, and people wove between the baggage carousels, inching toward a security checkpoint they could not see. On a frantic Monday morning at the world’s busiest airport, many things seemed out of place.
It was one of those mornings where you wake up too early and the world does not quite make sense. As if part of you is still in dreamland. But you know that’s a saxophone, bopping jazzily from the public-address system, and you see quite a few men with guns.
These armed government agents were a frequent topic of conversation for a group of Georgia Tech students as they plodded through the seemingly interminable line at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport before dawn, hoping to catch a flight to Denver for spring break.
Some agents were from Homeland Security Investigations. Others were regular police officers. High above the terminal, looking down over a railing, some hard-looking men wore greenish fatigues and held what appeared to be high-powered rifles. They were too far away to reliably identify, but closer officers in similar uniforms were part of the SWAT team from the Atlanta Police Department. The Tech students were perplexed by APD’s prisoner-transport van outside by the curb, whose presence seemed to foreshadow multiple arrests.
Chaos at Atlanta airport
A partial government shutdown has left TSA workers unpaid for weeks, causing many to seek other work or childcare. Meanwhile security lines have ballooned with officials estimating wait times could reach four hours.
Live updates: What we’re seeing from Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport
Paychecks arriving: Atlanta TSA employees begin receiving backpay. Future pay remains uncertain.
Worst waits: Why have airport lines seemed worse at ATL? The reasons are many.
Airport reports: The latest Atlanta airport wait times, as reported by passengers
How bad is it: Tell us about your ATL wait time
Donations: How to help TSA officers
Staying away: ICE presence makes airport a no-fly zone for immigrant community
Changing flights: Delta extends flight change flexibility because of security waits
ICE Deployment: ICE at Atlanta airport appear to step into some TSA functions
Security debate: Should the Atlanta airport privatize security? TSA woes raise the question.
Horror story: This traveler waited 9 hours in line
AJC Editorial: Congress must act now
Opinion: The airport perks for Congress may be drying up, not a minute too soon
Photos: Scenes from a packed airport
Pay divide: TSA workers are unpaid during shutdown; not so for members of Congress
Shutdown strain: TSA workers weigh showing up or staying afloat
Flight missed: Here’s the best food in every concourse
Complete coverage: Atlanta airport
Meanwhile, other federal agents roamed the domestic terminal. They were from ICE. They drew friendly greetings from at least two travelers. Walking outside into the breezy dark, they declined a reporter’s interview request. What were they doing at the airport? They’d come to “help bolster TSA efforts to keep our skies safe and minimize air travel disruptions,” according to an agency statement. But it seemed they couldn’t speed up the lines.
“I don’t understand why they’re here,” said Quang Pham, a senior biology major from Warner Robins.
The Tech students got in line around 6:05 a.m., and it took 33 minutes just to get inside. Other travelers in the terminal seemed to have it even tougher. A small boy in pajamas grimly held a woman’s hand. A truck driver flying to Chicago said he’d had three flights canceled the previous week, apparently because of the bad weather. Belinda Ford, age 70, who’d been in Columbus caring for her ailing brother, was trying to catch a 9:56 flight to Newport News, Virginia. She didn’t know if she’d make it.
“This is pure hell,” she said, and a moment later, she looked down at her swollen feet.
The drudgery of the march cannot be overstated. The stiffening muscles and the artificial light. The boredom and the confusion. That incessant saxophone. The disorienting journey, zigzagging through the baggage carousels, toward an unseen destination. It began to feel like theft on a mass scale. Theft of time, theft of sleep, theft of hard-earned wages from the many TSA workers who bravely showed up anyway. And in spite of these unpleasant conditions, people behaved themselves. They waited their turn. They followed directions. They complied.
Two or three hours into a situation like that, you may get to know someone. The line keeps moving, but the people around you remain the same. A camaraderie develops. A mutual feeling of grim determination.
“Shared trauma,” said Connor Haigh, 24, who was headed to Denver for business and chatting with some of the Georgia Tech crew. He looked forward to napping on the plane and playing pickleball when his work was done.
There were so many people in charge. So many authority figures to obey. The officers in tactical gear, of course, but also the airport workers in bright yellow vests and others in green vests and others in red vests. One yellow-vested woman directed traffic with a bright green marshaling wand. Another woman wore civilian clothes and got by on the commanding sound of her voice.
“Slide to your right,” she told the travelers.
In the third hour in the same line, it helped to keep guessing where the line would finally go. Where the route would lead, and how long it would take to get there. Haigh, a veteran traveler, thought they were getting close.
“You can see the wall of T-gate from here,” he said.
In the distance, white capital letters were visible: NORTH CHECKPOINT. A reason for hope. A yellow-vested man told the travelers to have their boarding passes ready. This was beautiful music. A command worthy of celebration. Even the cattle pen felt nicer than usual. That back-and-forth line marked off with the black seat-belt material. Beltrac, they call it. Here was Ford, soldiering on. She was asked for an update on her feet.
“Swollen,” she said. “But I’ll make it.”
The blue-shirted TSA agents gallantly did their jobs, with help at the conveyor belt from the airport’s customer-service team. The Tech students slipped through with plenty of time to make their flight to Denver. It was 9:21 a.m. The trip through the security line had taken three hours and 21 minutes.
Day had long since broken, but the space-time continuum still felt a little shaky. When you wake up at 3 a.m., what time is lunch? Why yes, Grindhouse Killer Burgers near Gate T10 does serve cheeseburgers at 9:35 a.m. And french fries, and onion rings, and ice-cold Dr Pepper.
Refreshment like that makes a longer journey possible. Down the escalator, in the tunnel between concourses, the trains were running but a walk seemed like fun. A sign said the walk to Concourse F would take 40 minutes. This was about right. It was hot down there, closer to the mantle and the burning core, but there were moving walkways and tasteful photographs. Between Concourses D and E, in an exhibit celebrating 100 years of aviation, the model of a yellow biplane hung from the ceiling.
An escalator led up to the International Terminal, or Concourse F, the end of the airport. A tranquil place late on Monday morning, with a high ceiling and a massive chandelier.
An escalator led up to an interfaith chapel. Inside was a guest book with names: Denise and Rocky and Judith and Carolina. In the comments were blessings and praises and peace and love. A man lay across the carpet by a row of chairs. He said he worked at the airport, and he was taking a break.
Near a gate for a flight that was going to Maui, Alex Haines was cooling his heels. He wasn’t going to Maui. Actually Austin, Texas. But he’d cracked the code of Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, at least on this morning. The security line was much shorter at the international terminal. Basically nonexistent. His flight didn’t leave until late that afternoon.
“Now we just have to wait,” he said.
Back on the domestic side, in the food court of Terminal E, some women were playing cards. A game called Swoop. They had quite a story to tell. Their leader, Jenny Owen, told the majority of it. They were from Dublin, Georgia, and they were going to Scotland, but the security line was so long on Sunday that they missed their connecting flight to New York. So they slept on the airport floor on Sunday night, and a kind woman from Delta found them another flight, which would depart Monday night. All told, they would spend about 31 hours at the airport. So now, the card game. Another traveler, Chris Karageuzian, had seen them playing.
“They invited me to play with them,” he said.
“They taught me, and they’re beating me.”
A few feet away, Maxwell Estis played a grand piano. Fresh arrangements of Stevie Wonder and Anita Baker. He asked a reporter to make a request, so the reporter did. “Georgia On My Mind.”
Estis launched into the song with a flourish, the notes spilling out over the concourse, toward the card game and the coffee shop. Travelers stopped to watch and listen. It was 11:57 a.m., near the end of a very long morning, and outside the planes kept roaring into the sky.
About the Author
Thomas Lake is a senior reporter for The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. His work has been published in The Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, Sports Illustrated and The Guardian. He's a co-founder of The Lake Family Band. Please email thomas.lake@ajc.com if you'd like to share a story idea.
