A queue full of people greeted me, as I approached the end of a long line. I began removing the watch from my wrist, unlooping the belt from my waist, and loosening the clasp on my Medic Alert bracelet. I shoved those items into the front pocket of my satchel. I pulled my wallet out from the front pocket of my Chinos, and my iPhone from the inside pocket of my Lost Highway jacket.
As I approached the conveyor belt, I grabbed two of the orange trays and placed my belongings onto them. Feeling more confident than the last time I did this, I approached the gate and took a step through.
The shrill noise hurt my ears.
One of the security staff told me to take a step back, while asking if I was wearing anything that might set the alarm off.
I have type 1 diabetes. I’m wearing an insulin pump, I said, pulling it out of my pocket and gesturing wildly.
He told me to take a step aside, and onto the square mat behind a gate that was situated adjacent to the walk through. I watched as he motioned to his colleagues that I needed a pat down.
I was left scratching my head, convinced that my Animas Vibe hadn’t set off any alarms in the past.
Another member of security approached, and I was told to remove my jacket and send it through the scanner. The likely culprit, I later suspected.
He asked me where I was travelling today, which didn’t really make me feel any more comfortable.
As I stood there with my arms stretched out wide, I felt incriminated.
As comfortable and open as I am with my diabetes, I didn’t like this one bit.