There is no way I could have anticipated the traumatic end of the Association of Black Psychologists Conference (ABPsi) in Phoenix.
Being trapped with thousands of people at the Atlanta International Airport was the straw that broke the camel’s back. My trauma began in Phoenix, with a connecting flight through Atlanta that was scheduled to depart around 12:30 p.m. Sunday. I received notification that my departure had been delayed nearly 12 hours: 11:59 p.m. Filled with dismay, I felt my trip’s events begin to weigh even more heavily on me.
Handout
Handout
This flight was more than just returning home after a long academic conference. It was a small escape, a temporary rest after experiencing the heavy pressures of work and the helplessness of grief. A day prior, I’d been supported by a family of ABPsi psychologists through an event more tragic than any airline delay: a missing friend, a police search and notice from the authorities that she’d been found fighting for her life after a head-on collision with a drunken driver. Sleepless nights ensued as worry consumed every waking moment — even as work priorities loomed on the horizon. The silence of the plane would have been welcome, especially with the thought that on the other side of it, my family would be there to comfort me during this difficult time.
All of that changed on seeing that delay notification on my phone Sunday morning. But it was OK. I could handle a single delay. I decided to get a late hotel checkout at 2 p.m., and then head to the airport. By the time I hugged the hotel’s front desk manager, Pedro, and head of security, Carly, both of whom were instrumental in assisting with the search for my friend, the Delta Air Lines app notified me that my flight would now be departing at 4:30 p.m. A breath of relief soon turned to extreme exhaustion as I rushed to the airport, only to be informed by check-in assistants that my flight had already departed. This turned out to be misinformation, and I was quickly given my boarding pass. However, this mix-up from visibly overwhelmed airline employees was a harbinger of the chaos to come.
John Spink
John Spink
After arriving in Atlanta at nearly midnight, I witnessed a kind of mayhem typically reserved for television comedies. Though amusing at first, the night turned swiftly from comedy to nightmare. Everything was in constant flux: flight times, departure gates and concourses, sending mobs of people through the overcrowded terminals and inoperable airport trams. I was already exhausted from carrying both emotional and physical baggage, and I was running on mere few hours of sleep as I was tossed through waves of people desperate to find their way home.
As the suffocatingly large crowds meandered around the airport, it was impossible to look away from the visceral emotional tsunami that washed through the airport. Wheelchair-bound passengers were being rushed back and forth between concourses as the speakers struggled to bark new departure times over a swell of angry voices. Ailing passengers with health and mobility issues sat worried in corners.
Those who had been trapped for hours lay defeated on the ground, some crying as they contacted friends and family about their dilemma. Worst of all: Unaccompanied minors stood stranded and fearful as airline representatives offered what comforts they could. I can only imagine the fear their parents must have experienced and the traumatic memories the children will have. (Delta needs to call ABPsi and have all of those brilliantly trained therapists attend to their passengers.)
The airport eateries all closed around 11 p.m., so there were no food options. Minute Suites and lounges were closed, and the airport businesses peacefully slept as thousands of wandering travelers tried to find their way home. We got notifications that we would depart at 2ish, then 3ish, then 4ish and then, finally, the flight was canceled altogether. People were hungry and cold, requesting blankets, food and explanations. Tempers flared, and attacks were directed at the gate attendees first, then to the pilots and crew, and then to each other. At the point of cancellation, it became obvious that flight notifications were getting to some of us but not others. For example, I was never notified of my flight cancellation — I had to find out from other passengers after hours of confusion. Pilots were trying to answer questions; passengers were either adding fuel to the fire or trying to put it out; it was a melee of chaos. Between police showing up on a bicycle and a bomb dog being fetched to investigate what seemed to be a suspicious abandoned bag next to me (which I didn’t realize was there until the police officer asked me if it was mine), it was more like an out-of-body experience.
Arvin Temkar/AJC
Arvin Temkar/AJC
None of it seemed real. I watched the entire thing numb. I thought about my friend in the hospital, who was so amazing to assist me while I was at my speaking engagement, now struggling in the intensive care unit, and watched as the scene played before me. Helpless mothers comforting their children and businesspeople fretting about their arrival time and what to tell their employers. I am lucky to have had an amazing family, mentors and loved ones staying up all night in an attempt to find me another option to get home to Maryland.
Many travelers were struggling to get themselves or their bags on another flight. Others decided to get a one-way rental car, convinced a 10- to 15-hour drive would be faster than the proven unpredictability of Delta. And though I got booked on a departing Southwest Airlines the next day for a whopping $500, I ached at the disruption and inconsideration to us all. Gate agents used a cookie-cutter response to tell us to get help from the customer service lines — lines that were hundreds of people deep. The telephone line had a six-hour wait just to talk to someone. The rebooked time Delta offered me was for Wednesday night at 11:59 p.m. There is no way I could have waited that long without my bags, considering I was due at the Black Librarian Conference in New Orleans on Wednesday.
I was alarmed to find out I could not get my bag — but it wasn’t just me. I was explicitly told that under normal circumstances, pulling our bags for a flight transfer would take up to an hour. Under those conditions, there was no guarantee they would be able to find our bags at all, which left everyone in another dilemma. I chose not to cancel my Southwest flight, at the advice of the gate agent, who shared with us that canceling our flight immediately took our bags off the flight, and there was no way to get them if we took a different flight. So there we were, between a rock and a hard place. Or better yet, like the movie “Get Out,” we found ourselves in “The Sunken Place.”
At 5:30 a.m., when things began reopening, everyone with a lounge pass rushed to find a place to rest, eat and recuperate. I was among them at the Centurion American Platinum Express lounge. While I was waiting in yet another long line, an attendant came to the door and shouted what criteria we needed for access. Everything seemed standard at first: Passengers were required to present IDs, boarding passes and other forms of identification. Then, the announcements changed:
- This is not a sleeping lounge; if we catch you sleeping more than three times, we will kick you out.
- You cannot take off your shoes.
- You cannot elevate your feet.
I zoned out after those directives and left the line as the lounge employee continued to bark unreasonable orders. I knew that my exhaustion would immediately disqualify me from a space I paid to occupy. I turned around and went to the Southwest concourse, joining the other wayward, sleep-deprived passengers on the floor. Every now and again, right before a plane began boarding, one could hear the barely disguised smile of a Southwest gate agent asking “can I see the hands of all my Delta passengers?” Hands around the room would wearily raise into the air. Mine was no exception. The agent would then proceed to say, “we are very sorry for how badly Delta has treated you. We will not do that. We will get you home quickly. Next time, please remember to fly Southwest for all your destinations!”
The humor was welcome as I patiently waited for my turn to board.
Ziyu Julian Zhu/AJC
Ziyu Julian Zhu/AJC
Being the chief executive and publisher of Universal Write Publications requires traveling to attend speaking engagements and support our authors. We depend on flights being safe, on time and comfortable, especially for those with long flights. At times, life and circumstances fall beyond our control, but, as human beings, we expect a few things: an explanation, an apology and restitution.
I made it home on Southwest, but with extensive out-of-pocket costs, no bags and fingers crossed. Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg advised on social media that Delta should reimburse travelers. I sincerely hope that Delta Air Lines is held to this requirement. I will be among the multitude of requests for reimbursement consideration. I hope all the babies made it home safely in the arms of their terrified parents, and that their love for travel will not have been disrupted. I especially hope the elderly were taken care of. I hope that my friend will make a full recovery, and together we can laugh about the comedy of errors thousands of people across the country were thrust into. In all things, I hope all’s well that ends well.
Dr. Ayo Sekai, a political scientist and linguistic imperialist scholar, is chief executive officer and publisher of Universal Write Publications.
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