I used to be Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport’s biggest fan. “There are never any lines!” I’d promise anyone who was booking a flight to visit me at college. Countless occasions of cruising through Transportation Security Administration security and getting to my gate in minutes had spoiled me, and DTW’s efficiency was an expectation rather than a pleasant surprise. I lowered my guard without realizing it — arriving at the airport one and a half hours before a flight began to feel more and more like a formality.
But my flippancy toward punctuality is only superficial, which makes it all the more dangerous. I hate being late. I am terrified of missing a flight. But, that being said, I can never sense when I might miss my boarding time, so I err on the side of certain doom even when I have a significant amount of time to spare.
Last summer, I booked a flight from my hometown Washington D.C.’s Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, or DCA for short, to Michigan for a weekend trip. After cruising into DCA about an hour and a half before my flight was supposed to take off (discussing in detail with my parents exactly when I should head to the airport and debating factors like traffic, predicted airport busyness, etc.), I was halted by a snaking TSA security line so long it overflowed the roped waiting area. I was devastated. Heart rate accelerating and nervously sweating, I texted my parents to complain that I was, without a doubt, not going to make my flight. Against all odds, I was early and had to wait at my gate for about an hour before boarding.
DTW had never scared me like that. DTW didn’t play games with me like DCA did. The nerve-wracking experience I had at DCA solidified my appraisal of Detroit’s airport even more. The two of us were officially going strong. That is, until Thursday, May 30th, 2024.
They say that even sudden break-ups are never completely out of the blue. I regarded DTW as unopposed in its supremacy over all other airports. So when cracks in our trusting relationship started to form, I turned a blind eye in the name of loyalty. But my unwavering allegiance blew up in my face. On Thursday, May 30th, I arrived at the airport in a nervous wreck. For reasons beyond my control — a Michigan Flyer bus that was not only delayed, but also wasted precious minutes attempting to go through the Packard and Hill intersection which is decidedly blocked for construction — I was cutting it close. Nevertheless, it was 2:30 pm on a Thursday, and my flight was at 3:46 pm, so I shrugged on my bag and entered DTW hopefully. And what a sight I did see.
People everywhere. In masses, in lines and every shape in between. And not just in front of the airline counters where dawdling travelers check their bags and print their tickets. No, the security line of DTW was at a capacity I’d never before seen in my wonderfully efficient airport. But not just any security line, I realized with horror, the TSA PreCheck line. As a bottom-tier flier without TSA PreCheck clearance, I passed the crowd feeling slightly faint.
Yet, to my surprise, the line for standard passengers seemed, if anything, shorter. By no means was I in the clear for making my flight, but I was certainly in the better line. I wasn’t the only one to notice this. Two ladies had taken up positions in the back of the TSA PreCheck line, which, at this point, converged with the entrance to the normal line, making for confused travelers and disgruntled airport employees. One of the women astutely observed that their line was longer than mine, and they both laughed at the irony of their situation — they were in the “faster” line, which was actually slower. Yet, even though they laughed, they did not move. They saw the non-TSA PreCheck line was faster and still they did not switch lines. Neither did the scores of passengers who continually entered the TSA PreCheck line while I waited in a line that was progressing much faster. Despite my building anxiety, I was amused. Even when faced with a better option, these travelers could not give up the allure of TSA PreCheck. Perhaps they were holding onto the belief that the promise of faster service would somehow emerge, regardless of what they could see with their own eyes.
But what I think is more likely is that these TSA PreCheck holders found assurance in a line that labeled them as premium travelers. Airports are stressful — there’s a reason I try to get to my gate early, but also as late as possible — I simply do not like being in the airport. And airports capitalize on the stress they induce, by selling a range of expensive experiences to make the journey more tolerable. Regardless of how effective a particular advantage may be, it seems that simply the status of having access to one may be compelling enough for some.
As I crept closer to the TSA agent’s stand, my flight had just begun boarding. It was scary business — not for the weak of heart. Just as I rounded the last bend, a TSA agent opened the stanchion to the left of me in an attempt to improve crowd control, which meant opening a lane that, while empty, conjoined with the CLEAR line at the front. If she thought she could deceive me so easily, she had another thing coming. I stayed put in my place, that is until she beckoned me through, at which point I immediately caved. And I walked to the front of this previously cordoned-off section, an opportunity I would have jumped for, had it not been for CLEAR.
Formally known as Clear Secure Inc., this security company lets users skip the security line in exchange for their biometric information. It is used in more than 50 airports across the country and it made its debut at DTW in 2016, four years before I would ever step foot there. In hindsight, our relationship was doomed from the start. As someone morally opposed to line cutting and vaguely distrustful of sale pitches, especially the ones that seem to promise more than they can deliver, I value a fair queueing system that works efficiently for all. DTW’s allegiance to CLEAR revealed that their moral principles differed from mine.
There I was, finally at the front of the line — the entrance to security tantalizingly close. When queues merge, everyone knows they alternate — that’s how four-way stops work after all. But the CLEAR line was building, and eager to please the clientele, the CLEAR employee pushed her customers forward, forming a continuous CLEAR line all the way to the ID scan stand manned by the TSA agent. Non-CLEAR travelers (like myself) were cut off. I raged (meaning I lamented to the woman behind me that we were being screwed over). No one likes a line cutter.
Even in airports, where societal norms like acceptable times of day to drink alcohol and reasonable amounts of money to spend on snacks are disregarded, the power of the line holds steadfast. Once, when deplaning after a flight, I witnessed two men curse another man out for cutting them off in the aisle. He had attempted to exit before them even though his seat was further back in the plane. Apparently, the benefit of CLEAR is that you get to cut the line and avoid such societal abjection (at least directly to your face).
Cutting in line is a societal sin, but in particular situations, we allow it. In a game theory paper that modeled queue jumping, the researchers outlined legitimate reasons for a line cutter to cut. Firstly, line cutting is more generally accepted by society if a person can imagine a future situation in which they might also need to cut in line. Secondly, a line cutter’s ability to promise a speedy transaction also results in greater societal acceptance of line skipping, even if that promise cannot be verified by the other people in line until after they have been bypassed. CLEAR travelers don’t fall into either of these categories. By paying for a service to cut the line, they don’t have a sympathizable reason to cut, like, for example, nearly missing their flight. And, they don’t have the decency to take up less time once they do cut the line because CLEAR offers no security advantage like TSA PreCheck does. The least they could do is move more efficiently through the metal detectors than the rest of us, but alas, they slow down the line just as much as anyone else would.
CLEAR’s slogan is, “Move freely through the world because you are you.” For accuracy’s sake, I’d add, “Because you pay $189 a year for the service and do not care about others’ perceptions of you.” Am I moving less freely through the world because I am me? As I am waiting for my turn, I am certainly moving less freely because of CLEAR.
And therein lies my problem with CLEAR. Paying for better service is certainly not a new phenomenon, especially when it comes to airports. Everything from the flexibility of rescheduling your plane ticket to the size of your seat on the plane comes with a price. But the first-class passengers I squeeze by on my trip to the back of the plane do not directly make my seat smaller. Even the airport upgrades, like airline lounges for priority members, do not downgrade the standard experience. While CLEAR is simply a nuisance, it’s worth considering how ethical it truly is.
Hypothetically, if CLEAR cost thousands of dollars and delayed standard lines by hours, I’d feel pretty confident saying it was definitely unfair. Why should one person’s time be more valuable simply because they are willing to spend more money? While it is an exaggeration that seems laughable, it is quickly becoming a reality as society continues to roll out premium services for a cost.
For example, High Occupancy Toll Lanes function as express lanes that drivers can pay for at a price proportional to the severity of the traffic they’d be bypassing, and have a faster commute. These lanes have been built across the country with the promise of reducing traffic congestion and raising money to improve highway infrastructure. While they do benefit a wealthier subpopulation, as long as the impact on non-express drivers is not detrimental, I’ll support their construction.
With CLEAR, however, airports get a cut of the company’s profit when new users sign up. Therefore, it is actually to airports’ benefit that non-CLEAR users, like me, become annoyed by the program and sign themselves up for the service. The detriment to the average traveler is part of CLEAR’s marketing strategy. But, I am resisting CLEAR’s pull and standing by my moral principles.
As for me and DTW, we’ve agreed to stay friends. I am sure you’ll be pleased to know that I handled the break up gracefully — sprinting half a mile to get to my gate, which was conveniently located on the farthest end of the terminal and getting there in the nick of time. I even held out for about three days, before I waltzed back through their walls on my return to Michigan. I’ve forgiven their transgression, mostly because I have no choice.
Given the convenience of flights, especially for longer travels, airports essentially have free-range in their operational policies because I will keep coming back. No matter how aggrieved I am by CLEAR, waiting in line at the airport still beats an eight hour drive home. But if life truly is about the journey and not the destination, that journey experience is getting increasingly stratified by how much you’re willing to spend on it.
Statement Columnist Molly Goldwasser can be reached at gomolly@umich.edu.
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