Back in the early nineties I worked for a major American airline. Unfortunately, it was one of those that would eventually go down in a sea of red ink. The years it was good though … it was really good.
A major perk of working for an airline then and now is flying for a reduced rate; which is exactly why I had signed on, and why I loved, my job. I was a customer service agent, but probably would have found positives in mopping floors, as long as I could fly.
Surprisingly, after more than a year and dozens of trips, I'd never had a problem getting on a flight … until one cold, snowy January night.
Airline employees fly standby. After all regular passengers are boarded, if there are seats still available, airline staff have a shot at getting on the flight. This had worked well for me until that night when I was bumped from the last seat on the last flight from Atlanta to Boston, by a senior airlineemployee.
That rare set of circumstances set the stage for an experience that would forever change my thinking on homelessness and the homeless.
It was after midnight before I'd been bumped; tried other flights; given up; and called friends in Boston, with the bad news.
Although there'd been some cancelled flights due to the bad weather, there hadn't been too many, so only a token number of passengers would be spending the night at Hartsfield. That had me a little nervous. I knew there were always homeless people that hung out in bus, railroad and even airline terminals.
On the way into the airport earlier, there had been a few hanging around outside. They were matted with dirt, didn't exactly have the aroma of a rose garden, and had some of the tell-tale signs of addictions; either to alcohol or drugs.
I always traveled with plenty of singles for tips, and was quite a few bills short by the time I made my way into the airport.
People so obviously suffering always made me feel wretched. I wasn't exactly rolling in dough, but in comparison, my cup was running over.
What made me nervous was the aggression I had seen displayed by some beggars at times, therefore being pretty much alone in a huge airline terminal didn't exactly inspire me with feelings of security. As tired as I was, I knew I couldn't stay up until flight time, which is why I felt so vulnerable.
I confirmed the departure time for the morning flight with the ticket agent as she closed the desk for the night. She confirmed that the flight would leave from the same gate; then, finished with the closing, she wished me good-night and left. I felt completely alone.
Glancing surreptitiously around for any lurking figures, I slung my purse over my shoulder and pulling my travel bag behind me headed off in search of what I considered a safe nook.
In most gate areas there were at most, several, widely scattered passengers slouched down in their seats … most of them already asleep.
Suddenly, I heard a throat being cleared behind me.
I spun around and came face to face with the only security person I'd seen in the last half hour or so. This of course, was long before 911 and security wasn't even in the same ballpark as today.
“Can I help you, ma'am?” He asked.
“Oh, good evening. Ah, well … maybe you can,” I stumbled.
“I have to be here until morning. All the concessions and ticket desks are closed. Any idea where it'll be safe to stay the night?”
“Well, you're pretty safe in any of the terminals. There's security … like me around, ya know.”
“Yes, I know about the security, but I can hardly keep my eyes open right now. I know
as soon as I sit down for awhile, I'm going to drop off.”
“In that case, the best I can do is direct you to the vending machines where you can get some hot coffee,” he said.
“Thanks,” I replied, just a little pissed at his nonchalance.
“Well, I'll be passing through tonight. See you later,” he answered, already on his way down the empty corridor I'd just left.
“Yea.” I continued on in the opposite direction.
As I rounded the corner, I could see a gate area at the far end of the terminal, and miracle of miracles, there were plenty of people … almost a crowd there.
Heading in their direction, I hurried my steps. I figured, either these people were all traveling together or, maybe they had the same "safety in numbers" idea I did.
There were only a couple of seats left, one of them in the first row. I made a beeline for it, plopped down and parked my bag. The group was a mixed bag: several Hispanics, a few blacks, the rest white.
