The Hartsfield-Jackson Experience

At 10:15 pm, I stumble through the automatic, glass doors of the South Terminal of Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, the world’s busiest airport, located in Atlanta, Georgia. As I carry my mother’s oversized suitcase to the ticket counter, no one except the cashier is in sight. While the woman asks my mother the list of standard questions, I only hear the sound of loud, instrumental, cheerful music streaming from the speakers overhead.  I glance upward to see the array of fluorescent lights lining the ceiling and the contrastingly dark sky lights. The empty space creates an extreme sense of loneliness with a hint of tranquility. Once my mother’s suitcase slowly glides along the conveyer belt and through the black plastic curtain, we sadly say our goodbyes and part ways.

            Instead of leaving instantly, I decide to buy a warm cup of tea from one of the numerous vendors surrounding the atrium. As I sit down to enjoy my beverage, I observe my surroundings. The space is a perfect, three level high cylinder  with glossy black and white linoleum tiles.

 

The ceiling is made of a giant glass dome  with a painted metal skeleton that usually brightens the area but, at this time of night, adds a sense of gloom. Streams of lights line the perimeter of the atrium and appear as manmade stars.

Directly in front of me stands a large collection of deep gray dinosaur fossils atop a free standing structure. Children laugh and run around the bones while taking pictures. I visualize the blurry snapshots and wonder if I am seen in the frames. To my left in black vinyl chairs sits a family, who appears sleep deprived, and two workers in yellow vests briskly walk by my right side, while two lumps lay across the chairs under blankets, trying to rest before their next flight. I casually check my email while I finish my drink and my relaxation is disturbed by an annoying clicking sound. I look up, not knowing what to expect, and see an elderly woman with an unamused expression, suggesting that the night shift erodes the spirit, pushing a mop bucket with a broken wheel.

            After my tea, I slowly rise from the surprisingly comfortable couch and walk toward the exit. As I walk past the baggage claim, I am stopped by a crowd of people who has just exited an airplane. The people continue the conversations that sparked as an escape from the silence of the long flight. The hum of voices and rolling wheels reverberate throughout the previously empty airport. Each passenger is unique and adds to the diversity of the crowd. Compared to my past experiences, the crowd is composed of more single middle-aged people than families because mainly business men and women fly at this hour. I follow the crowd to the baggage claim and see a group already staring and impatiently waiting for their suitcase. At first, the conveyer belt circles without a single piece of luggage, but after a few moments the bags slowly begin to appear. The impatience of the crowd can be heard from the simultaneous tapping of feet. As the number of suitcases increases incrementally, they fill the entire surface of the conveyer belt and start to flood the mouth of the track.

 As the customers find their bags, I begin to think that each bag resembles its owner. I notice a woman wearing a red coat reaches for a bright red suitcase, thus confirming my suspicion.

     By now, I am anxious to leave the airport and go home. When I exit through the doors, the breeze of warm air blows my hair back, and the darkness ironically stuns my judgment.

  As my eyes adjust, I cross the walkway and enter the garage. I effortlessly identify my truck out of the ten vehicles on the row. As I start the engine and reverse, I ponder the diversity of the crowd and the commerce of Atlanta.

            Everyone at the airport has a story and a destination. Some are arriving for business, and others are arriving home. Some are leaving for business, and others are going home. From this experience, I learned that one cannot tell a person’s past or present simply from an initial judgment.