“I was somehow experiencing normalcy for the first time in two months – walking through an airport, observing strangers drinking in public and enjoying themselves – while, at the same time, finally coming face to face with our new collective reality – people wearing masks, airports operating at 10% of typical volume – after having insulated myself from this strange new world in my childhood home since the onset of the crisis.”
This past Thursday, I did something incredibly unusual and borderline controversial – I flew on an airplane. Putting those words on paper just ten weeks ago would have branded you as a crazy person. And for good reason; US airlines carried 926 million passengers in 2019, or nearly three million travelers per day on average. To really put things in perspective, if we annualize April global air traffic of 47 million people, we would be time-traveling back to 1978. But, as we are now all too familiar, what was normal two months ago is unrecognizable today.
I have been living in San Francisco for nearly a year now, but in mid-March, once it became obvious that Covid-19 would upend normal life across the globe, I packed some clothes and booked a flight home to Atlanta. Last week, after weeks of following every piece of Coronavirus news possible, I came to the conclusion that the resumption of normal life will not occur for many months at minimum. Fortunately, my apartment sublease would be expiring at the end of the month, and after assessing the risks of flying across the country, I determined that if I took the proper precautions, I could safely travel to the west coast and move out of my apartment.
Because I was unsure of my exact travel plans, I booked a one-way flight from Atlanta to SFO on Delta, my preferred carrier and the only carrier still flying direct from Atlanta to the Bay Area.
Since this crisis began in March, I have been periodically checking prices of flights to various destinations. To little surprise, airfares plummeted in the early phases of the crisis as demand evaporated faster than carriers could cut capacity. Thus, the excess in supply meant that carriers had no choice but to slash prices across the board. Likewise, with airlines burning tens of millions of dollars per day, bargain prices meant a potential immediate infusion of cash if consumers were willing to bite on the deals.
However, as carriers adjusted their schedules, moved a majority of their aircraft to storage, and started to block middle seats, capacity began to realign with demand. This meant that carriers were now free to charge prices far higher than even prior to the crisis, despite jet fuel trading at multi-decade lows. No longer could airlines rely on cutting prices to stimulate leisure travel demand. Those of us who had to fly, would fly regardless of the cost.
In my case, the lowest Economy fare priced at nearly $400, yet, a first-class ticket, which guaranteed a full row to myself and (very limited) food and drink service, was only $50 more. I was sold.
I arrived at the world’s busiest airport at 6:30 PM for my 8:00 PM flight. While I expected crowds to be nonexistent, I knew that both Clear and Pre-Check would be closed and did not know what sort of screening or safety checks I would be required to undergo.
In normal times, Thursday evenings are when American airports are most busy, with consultants and businesspeople flying back home after the usual Monday to Thursday swing.
Of course, this particular Thursday was not normal. No traffic on the highway. No congestion at the passenger drop-off. And most noticeably, an airport that typically handles upwards of 230 takeoff and landings per hour at its peak, was just eerily silent overhead. No takeoffs, no landings. Just silence.
As I walked inside the terminal, I began to feel at ease. I’m not a weekly business traveler, but I travel more than most, so entering an airport marked a resumption of some semblance of normalcy, even if everything around me was anything but.
I checked my bags at Delta’s dedicated Sky Priority check-in, and to my surprise, the agent wore neither gloves nor a mask. After dropping my bags, I headed to Hartsfield’s main security line – a break from my usual routine that normally includes skipping the line all together with my dual-enrollment in Clear and TSA Pre-Check. Of course, today there would be no line-skipping and no precheck. Anyone traveling out of Atlanta tonight, whether a Delta Diamond million-miler or a first-time traveler, would wait in the same duct-tape-marked security line.
After clearing security, I checked the time and realized I still had an hour until boarding. Rather than adding additional risk by hopping on the people-mover (combined with my severe lack of exercise over the past two months), I decided to walk all the way to Concourse D. I could count on one hand how many people I passed on the nearly twenty minute walk.
As I walked up the escalator, I couldn’t help but notice a group of travelers sitting at a bar in the middle of the concourse just drinking beers and having a good time. I wasn’t sure if the sight should make me upset, nervous, or relieved. Upset that my fellow passengers would disregard social distancing protocols just to enjoy a beer. Nervous that their germs would spread to one another and then on to me. Or relieved to see people resuming another dimension of life that just a few months ago, we never second guessed as being completely regular behavior.
I was somehow experiencing normalcy for the first time in two months – walking through an airport, observing strangers drinking in public and enjoying themselves – while, at the same time, finally coming face to face with our new collective reality – people wearing masks, airports operating at 10% of typical volume – after having insulated myself from this strange new world in my childhood home since the onset of the crisis.
Knowing full well that Delta had replaced its first-class dinner service on cross-country flights with bottled water and plastic-wrapped biscoff cookies, I grabbed a pre-departure sandwich from one of the few open eateries in the concourse. Waiting in line to order, I realized this was the closest I had stood to people I did not know since human contact amongst strangers had been outlawed – again, a bit refreshing but also intimidating. Was I standing too close? Was I allowed to take my mask off at all? I didn’t know.
As I finished my dinner, I finally headed to my departure gate. Delta now boards its planes back-to-front to limit the spread of germs and better comply with social distancing guidelines. However, those at the front of the plane who are used to boarding early need not be alarmed; with our 737 only about 15% full, I would estimate the entire boarding process took less than ten minutes.
Being one of the last to board, I settled into 2C on the righthand side of the plane just as doors were closing. With 2C and 2D all to myself, this was $50 very well spent. And unlike the agent I met at check-in an hour earlier, every flight attendant – just like every passenger – would be wearing masks for the entire duration of the flight. We pushed back on-time as Delta’s safety video played in the background, which now included an introduction detailing their new cleaning procedures. Within ten minutes, we were in the air headed to California. No congestion on the tarmac tonight.
The flight itself felt unusually ordinary. I watched a few episodes of Bob’s Burgers on the plane’s high-quality IFE screen, read a few chapters of my book, and took advantage of Delta’s variety of prepackaged snack-boxes. With the exception of the mask on my face, the half-empty first-class cabin, and a beverage service limited to bottles of Dasani, I could have mistaken this flight for any of the countless flights I had taken prior to the crisis. The Delta flight attendants did an exceptional job of making passengers feel safe and at ease and the experience routine and forgettable, which, at least in this environment, is exactly what I was looking for.
Before I knew it, we were on approach into San Francisco. We were wheels down ahead of schedule and at the gate just a few moments later – a far cry from the frequent arrival delays notorious at SFO (thanks Karl). I walked off the jet bridge to find a nearly empty Terminal 1 – no business travel means no more redeyes to Delta’s east coast hubs. Still just in shock to be back in California, I took it all in for a minute before collecting my bags from the carousel and heading towards SFO’s rideshare pickup zone. Usually teeming with activity, persistent traffic, and overflow crowds, you could now hear a pin drop as you awaited pickup. The fresh California air welcomed me back to the life I had fled with a moment’s notice months earlier. Exhausted from a long day yet relieved by the pleasantness of my travel experience, I put my mask back on, hopped into my Uber, and headed into a city I worried I would no longer recognize.
Jay Edlin is a Business Analyst at WhereTo.