“Sir or ma’am or whatever, please step over here,” were not the words I wanted to hear from a blue-clad TSA agent twice my size as I was moving through the security line at Denver International Airport.
I was running late for my flight to Washington, D.C., where I was to start my summer legal internship with the National LGBTQ Task Force. My excitement for the trip was promptly squelched as the giant, red-faced man shouted, loudly enough for the whole terminal to hear, “We have anomalies in the chest and groin area. Private screening, female agent requested.”
Perfect, I thought. I could feel my neck getting hot, and I looked down and away from the other people in line behind me who had suddenly been alerted to my “otherness.”
Despite having changed my name and gender marker on my Colorado driver’s license a few months earlier, I still wasn’t always read as male at this point in time. My voice had only just deepened, and my facial hair was a far cry from the beard I now regularly wear.
Hustling to grab my carry-on and shoes, two TSA agents escorted me to a private room with fogged glass walls and a small table. Once inside the room, the agents started speaking quietly to themselves. I stood awkwardly, adjusted my shirt, opened and closed my fists.
“Sir, we need to know what’s in your pants.”
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You can read the full article by Carl Charles on The Advocate posted here.
Originally posted on October 1, 2015.