One of my recent trip to the airport felt a little different—not truly unusual, but I’ve grown comfortable arriving much closer to departure time than recommended. This time, I got there less than 30 minutes before takeoff. After picking up the kids from school, we headed straight there.
As a Deaf traveler, I’ve learned to assume that no one at the airport knows ASL. So, I proactively let people know I’m Deaf at every step. It starts right after showing my boarding pass, when I’m directed to the right security line. As I move forward in the queue, I prepare to remove my boots, jacket, carry-on items, laptop, and liquids (in a clear plastic bag).
When I reach the TSA officer, they usually say something, and I respond by signing and gesturing that I’m Deaf. They often ask to see my boarding pass again to scan it. Then I walk through the full-body scanner and wait for my belongings to come through.
After clearing security, I head directly to my gate with my boarding pass and ID ready. Near the gate, I let the flight attendant know I’m Deaf. Once onboard, I settle into my seat and stay alert to see if anyone sits next to me.
Flight attendants sometimes approach to speak to me. If I’m reading or focused elsewhere, other passengers might glance over, signaling that someone’s trying to get my attention. I let the attendant know I’m Deaf again. The reaction is almost always the classic “deer in headlights” look—wide eyes and a frozen expression.
I quickly pull out my phone, turn on the voice-to-text feature, and hand it over. They usually ask awkwardly, “Is there anything I can help you with?” I respond with two thumbs up, a friendly smile, and a nod to reassure them I’m all set and will ask if I need anything. (I could joke, “How about a back massage?”—but that might make things even more awkward!)
Then the plane taxis to the runway and takes off.
However, the day doesn’t end at takeoff—or even at landing. When I arrived, it was evening and cold outside. Knowing I’d be hungry and tired by the time I reached the hotel, I decided to grab takeout first.
At the restaurant, I gestured with a smile while waiting for the cashier. She looked tired—probably near the end of her shift. When I signed that I was Deaf, she seemed surprised, just like so many others. I paid, then hopped into an Uber.
The driver turned out to be hard of hearing too. When I let him know I was Deaf, he lit up with an “Oh!” and pointed to his ear, gesturing “so-so” to indicate his own hearing level. The ride to the hotel was quiet (pun intended). When we arrived, I signed “thank you,” and he smiled back warmly.
I walked into the hotel lobby and approached the front desk to check in. Once again, I gestured that I was Deaf. After a short wait, I received my key card and headed to the elevator.
As I stood there, a man joined me and gave a polite smile. I didn’t realize he’d said something, so I smiled back and signed “Good evening.” He immediately understood I was Deaf. We stepped into the elevator together, rode up in comfortable silence, and parted ways on our respective floors.
Finally, I reached my room, settled in, and that’s how I ended my long day.
These moments—from the surprised cashier to the kind Uber driver who “got it,” the polite elevator exchange, and finally unwinding in the room with takeout—show how the communication dance continues long after the plane lands. It’s exhausting at times, but I do wonder what if these encounters can be more than just gestures but have these small talks and conversations.
What do you think?