I assumed the airport would be quiet at 9 p.m. on a recent Sunday, with short security lines. But the North Terminal portal at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport was closed, and the security line at the south entrance stretched all the way into the atrium.
“What’s going on?” I asked the man beside me.
“No idea,” he replied.
People glanced around with puzzled, nervous looks. A low buzz filled the air.
We shuffled forward but it soon became clear that it would take 45 minutes to get through. My flight didn’t depart for another 90 minutes, so I was fine, but others in line sighed and frowned. As fresh travelers passed by on their way to the back of the line, panic rose on their faces as they realized how far they had to go.
Halfway to the screening agent, I heard a young Transportation Security Administration (TSA) worker call out repeatedly, “If your ticket says ‘TSA Precheck,’ you are in the wrong line. Check your ticket!”
Two men hustled up to her and blurted, “Where do we go for precheck?” The woman replied, “Excuse me – just a moment,” and she proceeded with her announcement.
They looked around and bobbed anxiously, but TSA was taking her time, so I gave them quick directions and they raced away.
We pressed forward, and as I approached the X-ray machines, more and more people could be heard asking, “May I pass? My flight leaves in five minutes.” I let a half-dozen of them go by – again, I was in no hurry – but near the tray area two gentlemen ran up and hailed another TSA worker beside an X-ray machine that was closed.
“Sir, can you help us?”
The agent turned and gave them a stony stare.
They repeated their plea.
He took a few steps our way. “Huh?”
“Please, help us; our flight leaves now!”
The man paused, then shrugged. “Just get in line – go on through.”
“But we’re not going to make it,” one of them groaned.
“What do you want me to do?” he answered.
“Can’t you do anything?,” they asked.
A look of annoyance crossed his features. He’d had enough. “I can take you to another line, but you’ll have to go to the end.”
He turned around as the travelers threw up their hands. The woman behind me mumbled something. I asked if she wanted to cut through. “No, I’ve already missed my plane.”
Two men behind her looked at me. “Go ahead,” I said. They jumped forward and we took off our shoes, then waited on the other side for our cartons to emerge. I looked around and remarked to the guys beside me, “Hmmm, only three machines open.”
They shook their heads. A moment later a voice filled the air.
"You can't always get what you wa-ant." It was the refrain from the old Rolling Stones song, "You Can't Always Get What You Want," sung slowly with a rhythmic drawl. The singer was the TSA worker scanning the bags.
It took us a moment to realize what it meant, but then it dawned on us. She was mocking us! She must have taken my remark as an insult and decided to issue a comeback.
I snapped at her and she snapped at me, though she wouldn’t turn around and face us. I picked up my back and grumbled, “You’re quite a public servant.”
She: “I’m not your servant.”
I understand the job TSA must do. I’ve seen most passengers accept TSA’s unpleasant task and endure it with obedience. I’ve also seen a few passengers misbehave and resent them. Some TSA workers nicely defuse the tensions with a joke, a smile, a word of sympathy. I usually request an “opt-out,” bypassing the body scan and taking a pat-down. Every time, the TSA man is entirely professional and polite.
But a few bad apples have spoiled the whole process.
We have too many surly, dismissive attitudes at Hartsfield-Jackson, this and that worker who act like they’re at Ellis Island, not at one of the world’s greatest airports. Their expression and body language are clear: “We’ve got a job to so, so be quiet and move on.”
It’s an estranging approach, and the burden is on TSA to close the gap. That means training workers to meet anxiety with aid, anger with understanding. The necessity of security is bad enough. TSA employees need to realize that forbearance and consolation is part of the job.
Mark Bauerlein is an English professor at Emory University.
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