A Crisis Waiting to Happen: How Airports and Airlines Failed People with Disabilities During a Technology Blackout

Early this week, I attended the Disability:IN Global Conference & Expo with thousands of others. My company, TD SYNNEX , sent me as part of a group of six to represent our company. Participants of the conference were composed of people with and without disabilities, both in-person and virtual, from the United States and abroad. It was a chance to learn about technological innovations and connect with others who find this work important. As a person with multiple hidden disabilities working in the disability and accessibility space, this conference was significant to me.

However, I was not prepared for what was about to unfold. What started innocently enough as a delayed flight morphed into a much more significant ordeal. A coworker’s plane left on time, but she found herself stranded on the tarmac for several hours, waiting to taxi. A few of my coworkers managed to get home unscathed. Then there was me. I managed to make it to my stop in Atlanta, but instead of waiting a few hours, it would take me several days to get home.

“What started innocently enough as a delayed flight morphed into a much more significant ordeal.”

I identify as an individual with several neurological and cognitive disabilities, including but not limited to prosopamnesia, autism, ADHD, anxiety, agoraphobia, depression, hyperacusis, and sensory processing disorder. Navigating loud, brightly lit, and crowded spaces is challenging for me. This means that typically, the airport isn’t the best place for me to be – but I manage. I travel with noise-canceling headphones and earplugs. Though my coworkers have never experienced this from me, I’m non-verbal in environments like this. This means I rely on a combination of live captioning applications on my phone and American Sign Language to navigate these spaces.

Despite wearing the Hidden Disabilities Sunflower ?? lanyard and card in places that claim to support it, I often get questioned about whether I “really need assistance.” In one instance, I was interrogated at the gate when boarding early for people who need extra time. The U.S. Department of Transportation has stated as part of the Airline Passengers with Disabilities Bill of Rights that “Airlines must allow a passenger with a disability who self-identifies at the gate as needing additional time or assistance to board, stow accessibility equipment, or be seated, the opportunity to board before all other passengers.” Along with my hidden disabilities, I currently have carpal tunnel, tennis elbow, and a torn rotator cuff. I can’t use my right arm to lift my luggage. For every flight I’ve been on, I’ve required assistance placing and retrieving my luggage from the overhead bin. Disabilities aren’t always visible, but in this instance, I had a shoulder and wrist brace on.

“Despite wearing the Hidden Disabilities Sunflower lanyard and card in places that claim to support it, I often get questioned about whether I ‘really need assistance.’”

I landed in Atlanta, and my connecting flight, though delayed, left while we sat on the plane waiting for someone to connect the jetway. After several repeated calls, someone showed up around 20 to 30 minutes later. When we were able to deboard, many people missed their flights. The gate representative frantically redirected people to where they needed to be while I typed what I needed to communicate. This is when I met a blind person who attended the conference. It was then that I realized just how inaccessible travel is.

The blind passenger had requested a Special Service Request (SSR). Often, individuals with a disability need an SSR to have someone escort them from place to place or assist with navigating spaces like an airport. Spaces, in general, aren’t built with accessibility in mind. Instead of people having autonomy to navigate these spaces, we often rely on technology.

The gate agent made over a dozen requests for an SSR, but no one showed up. I sat at the gate while a woman fussed at the gate agent because she needed an escort to the baggage claim area. He was frantically trying to navigate a system we would later find out had crashed. He wanted us to relocate from the gate we were at to another gate so he could assist us.

“Spaces, in general, aren’t built with accessibility in mind. Instead of people having autonomy to navigate these spaces, we often rely on technology.”

Around this time, I removed my headphones and earplugs because I wanted to assist my newfound friend who relies on a cane and his senses to navigate spaces. He needed a guide as the agent was trying to get to the next gate quickly. Thousands of people no longer surrounded me; the lights were dim, and it was mostly quiet despite a few hundred people waiting for assistance in silence. I needed to hear what was going on.

I have the luxury of taking out my earbuds, whereas Deaf and hard-of-hearing individuals do not. I learned a lot about Deaf culture while studying American Sign Language at Gallaudet University and from my friends and coworkers who are Deaf, hard-of-hearing, or CODA (children of Deaf adults). I am only a visitor in their world. No matter how much discomfort or anxiety I may get from navigating these spaces, at the end of the day, I can still restore my ability to hear everything around me and communicate orally, albeit with great difficulty. To help my friend, I did.

Living with hyperacusis is an often-overwhelming experience marked by a heightened sensitivity to everyday sounds that others perceive as normal. For those affected, common noises like traffic, household appliances, or conversations can be painfully loud and deeply uncomfortable. This condition frequently leads to social isolation as individuals avoid public places and social gatherings to escape the noise. The constant anticipation of encountering painful sounds can cause significant anxiety and stress, affecting mental health and overall well-being. Many individuals with hyperacusis rely on ear protection, such as earplugs and noise-canceling headphones, to mitigate the impact of loud noises, though this can also contribute to a sense of isolation. Navigating work environments becomes challenging, and finding suitable employment can be difficult.

My friend never received an SSR, but we got vouchers that allowed us to use a Lyft. During our walk to the ride-sharing platform, we discussed the conference, how our disabilities affect us, and what it would look like in a perfect world. In such a world, universal design and accessibility would be seamlessly integrated into every aspect of life, from transportation to conferences, ensuring that all environments are usable by everyone without the need for adaptation. We envisioned a society where buildings, products, and services are designed with everyone in mind, making it easier for people with disabilities to navigate and participate fully and independently.

“Living with hyperacusis is an often-overwhelming experience marked by a heightened sensitivity to everyday sounds that others perceive as normal.”

After we arrived at the ride-share platform, we parted ways, and I went to the hotel to get some rest while he went to a friend’s.

The next day marked the beginning of what I consider the worst accessibility failure in history. Despite all the technology we have and the research that supports it, airlines and airports were not prepared. They didn’t have a contingency plan to assist people with disabilities. I was booked on a 3 o’clock flight that was eventually canceled. All the monitors were down, with many screens showing the dreaded Blue Screen of Death. If your flight changed, the only way to get that information was through text. The application I had for my airline wouldn’t allow me to log in for hours. Once I did, it wouldn’t show my updated itinerary. I was still receiving notifications on my phone for a flight I was no longer on, indicating I was on standby. Text messages would either come late or not at all.

I was so overstimulated by everything that the only thing I could do was completely shut down. I needed help, but there was none to be found. The concourses were packed with thousands of people. There were no free agents available. The chosen method of communication at the gates was to yell out commands, which I couldn’t hear. Everything about my senses was telling me to get out of that space, to run away. I went to find a sensory room sponsored by The Arc of the United States. This room isn’t well advertised.

I never found it. I looked for signage, but there was none. My coworker eventually Googled it and sent me the information. I started making my way to the information desk while typing what to say on my phone. This is when I was angrily yelled at and gestured at by a Transportation Security Administration (TSA) agent. I couldn’t hear her. I was confused.I didn’t know what was going on. She apparently yelled louder as if I would hear what she was saying, but I looked around and noticed people were stopped. There was a security incident, and they wanted everyone to stop moving, which I eventually found out from the information desk attendant. I imagine an announcement was made on a loudspeaker. Are TSA agents not trained on how to engage people with disabilities? Is the default assumption that everyone can see and hear just fine? I wish this were the only situation, but I encountered another agent who asked for the boarding number. I showed her my digital ticket and instead of reading it, she responded, “What are you showing that to me for? You’re the one with glasses.” I was flabbergasted. When she realized that I couldn't hear her she read it and sent me on my way.

I would learn that the sensory room was around the corner, but I’d need someone from Delta Air Lines to open it for me. From what I was told, it needed a code and a key. I couldn’t find a free agent, and I felt defeated. I opted to attend the chapel for Friday Prayer at the atrium instead. The man at the chapel front desk requested that I remove my headphones. I refused. He used pen and paper to communicate with me. Since I was attending Friday Prayer, he asked if I was Muslim, to which I signed in the affirmative and wrote in my app, “Yes.” I was having a sensory meltdown. I needed someplace quiet. I needed to decompress. Everything that was going on was too much for me. I just wanted somewhere dark and quiet.

Being neurodivergent makes most tasks difficult. On the last day of the conference, I found myself talking to a few other neurodivergent and neurodiverse people, and we could not finish a thought or a conversation before getting distracted by something or someone. We drifted in and out of conversations. Neurotypical individuals get frustrated with this behavior, but it’s something natural for us. This is how our brains work and make sense of the world. We freely float from one idea to another. We always come up with ways to improve systems. It’s our superpower. We’re curious about the world, things, and people – but at the same time, we quickly become bored of the thing that has fascinated us and move quickly to the next.

When I felt “okay” enough to re-engage in trying to get a flight, I attempted to find help. I encountered Delta Air Lines representatives holding signs to scan a QR code to hold our place in line. The line on the concourse I was at had several hundred people. This was true for every concourse. I am unable to stand in place for an extended amount of time, and many of those people had been there for hours. I scanned the QR code and entered the queue. I was #2581. This number fluctuated greatly. Sometimes, I found myself as the 2800th person in line. It was never consistent. During this whole experience, I only received one text message. Because there was no other way to know where I was in the process aside from looking at a webpage, I eventually lost my spot.

The website I registered on for the waitlist encouraged us to use the virtual agent. I went through that process and was told that I would be connected to an agent.

The first part of this process was great. However, I was told that it would take 489 minutes (8 hours and 9 minutes) to speak to someone. This number kept going up, and I eventually reached 791 minutes (13 hours and 11 minutes). There were a lot of attention checks, and I didn’t want to find out what would happen if I missed a prompt requiring me to respond “yes” or “no.” This was very anxiety-inducing. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't nap. I had to stay awake. I went to a random gate, and a representative placed me on standby for the next flight out. There were 91 people on standby, and I was number 32. There were only 25 seats available.

I sat by the gate not knowing what was going on. I approached the representative and wrote that I couldn’t hear their updates and let them know my name. I was never given any updates afterward. My live captioning app struggle to make sense of the conversation with an unstable internet connection and the microphone on my headphones missed words. When the gate agents changed, it was never communicated that I needed extra assistance. The signs were down. They called out people by name. I was disconnected from the world. All I could do was pace up and down the concourse. Removing my headphones wasn’t an option. Inside, I was panicking. I wanted to escape, but I had nowhere to escape to.

I watched as the flight that was supposed to leave at 8:00 PM kept changing time in 30 minute increments. Eventually, they canceled the flight at 5:00 AM after a couple of stewardesses didn’t report for duty. The same thing happened with several other flights around us. I didn’t learn this from my airline; I learned it by asking the passengers waiting on the plane.

I was eventually confirmed via text message support for a flight two days later. I wanted to rent a car and drive home. I was told my ticket was non-refundable despite the cancellation of my flight. I was promised to be instantly rebooked by the gate agent. I wasn’t. I was directed by email to go to a URL or use the app on my phone. The app wasn’t working, and the URL told me that I needed to call or message them. I stopped receiving text messages.

I’m set to leave to go home late Sunday night, and I won’t see my wife and children until Monday morning. My airline ran out of hotel vouchers. I was sitting in an airport with 3 hours of sleep in a 56-hour period. I was falling apart. The airports and airlines didn’t plan for this. And they didn’t plan on how to address a vulnerable population in a scenario like this. There are a plethora of organizations that do this work – to help companies figure out how best to assist individuals with disabilities.

Disabled individuals rely on technology. When that technology fails, we rely on each other and ourselves. There should always be a contingency plan. There wasn’t, and many people who needed assistance were some of the last to receive it. Things that were common sense seemed completely oblivious. You don’t talk louder when someone is Deaf and asking questions. You don’t point directions to someone who is blind. You don’t tell someone in a wheelchair directions to the escalator and not the elevator. Yet, I’ve seen this and more.

My experience during the whole outage hasn’t been positive. I understand that there was much that was out of their control. However, there were moments of light in between. The agent who helped my friend and I did the best he could when the system was going down. He let us know what help he needed, and we adjusted. For instance, my friend needed a guide, and several people needed to be pushed in wheelchairs. It was what I consider basic communication 101 and we were greatly indebted to him for that. Another gate agent arranged for me to be on standby despite being overwhelmed by a large group of angry passengers.

“It is estimated that 16% of the global population have a disability. That’s approximately 1.3 billion people. This is the one group that anyone can be a part of at any time of their lives.”

Training plays a large part in this, and there apparently wasn’t any training for this “what if” scenario. Arguably, you can assume that no one saw it coming, but this is why we pay people to come up with these scenarios and plan for them. There need to be a fallback plan.

I'm not sure if companies are going to have a retrospect after all of this is said and done. At the very least, they should contact people with disabilities and organizations that represent people with disabilities to gain some insight on how they can improve. Companies like Aira and NaviLens make navigating these spaces earlier for the blind and low-vision population. Convo Communications has Convo Now, a video relay service (VRS) which gives access to interpreters for Deaf and hard-of-hearing users on demand. Sorenson Communications also offers a VRS as well as call captioning apps.

“Disabled individuals rely on technology. When that technology fails, we rely on each other and ourselves. There should always be a contingency plan.”

However, there is one glaring issue with all of them: they rely on a stable internet connection. And, for some people with disabilities, the use of multiple services can be cost prohibitive. Airports and airlines should prioritize traffic to these services on their routers using the Quality of Service or Traffic Management settings.

I am hopeful about the future of accessibility and disability inclusion. It is my view that companies need to be more intentional about how they include people with disabilities in their spaces. It's not about checking off a box on a form or making moves just so you won't get sued. It is estimated that 16% of the global populating have a disability. That's approximately 1.3 billion people. This is the one group that anyone can be a part of at any time of their lives. You don't have to be born with a disability to end up having one later in life.

Building for accessibility doesn't mean that you're only addressing a singular population. When you build for accessibility, everyone benefits.