Well I'm Living In A Foreign Country, But I'm Bound To Cross The Line

Ahhh, the airport. One of the finer points of America. You walk in, family in tow, straight to the American gate looking like you mean business. Of course, when you look at the departure board, your flight isn't on there, making you second guess your choice of date, gate, time, or even decision to travel in the first place. But, I trudged on, discovering that it truly was the gate I was supposed to be at and that the guy would gladly book my bags all the way to my destination. He, as a matter of interest, just spent about a month in Australia, while the guy I bought some batteries from earlier today will be traveling there in about a month.

But I digress…

Boarding pass in hand, I, along with my family, walk to the very long line that is the security checkpoint. As I take step by step, I notice my mother getting red in the face and my father get a little quieter. They are better at showing emotion than I am. Honestly, I still think I'm just going on a kick-ass vacation, with some school, sure, but other than that, a vacation nonetheless. I finally make it up to the guy, kiss my mother goodbye, hug both my father and sister, and give the TSA agent my ID and boarding pass.

SILENCE!

Now, remember, I have diabetes. So one of my carry-ons is strictly insulin pump supplies, insulin, and whatnot. I also have a small lunch pail with snacks, and my backpack which has some books, my laptop, and the like. And, apparently, I look like a terrorist. The detector goes off, after I clear the metal part, and the guy says I've been selected for a random screening. No big deal, but I'm currently missing my shoes, as is TSA policy to check your shoes, because, you know, I can cleverly fit a knife or drugs in my long flight to Australia, and it is awkward to sit waiting for TSA without any shoes on. One guy asks if he can go through the bag that has my contact solution, a loose vial of insulin, toothpaste, etc. and another one asks if he can go through the diabetic bag.

Please, go for it.

All the while, I'm asking if I can at least have my shoes back, nobody is responding, then the guy walks up, swabs my hands, tells me I'm not a terrorist, and sends me on my way. I have the bag with my contact solution back, so I'm packing everything up while the guy still goes through my diabetes bag. When he finally finishes up, he tells me that he is going to put it through the metal detector, but he also decided to ask me if I was a pharmaceutical rep, or why I needed so much insulin. Yes, TSA agent, I am a pharmaceutical rep, and I figured I could only sell one piece of equipment a day, enough for the duration of my stay. NO YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF AMERICA! I'M A DIABETIC AND I WILL USE ALL THE STUFF YOU JUST RUMMAGED THROUGH!

Oh well. I made it, and I sit in the airport and wait. I have a very, very, long day/night/disappeared day ahead of me, so if you get a moment, give me a call or send me a text, I may not respond, but it's the thought that counts.

Bro Code Does Not Apply

Side note: I'm waiting just outside the gate, and this guy walks up to me saying, "Bro, do you mind?" indicating the seat next to me. "Nah, go ahead." Not long later, he turns to me and says, "Bro, do you know the time?" "4:30." Sorry dude, I am not your bro. I have some bros, but they are definitely not here at the airport.