Before I tell the story, I should add a visual aid. This is representative of what I wear when going through security these days:
First, departing Baltimore on Tuesday afternoon. I got to the airport four hours before departure time, just to make sure I'd have time for a conference call. Good thing I did, too. There was a TSA screener outside the checkpoint. She asked me where I was going dressed like that. I gave her my standard answer: I got so tired of the TSA groping me that I make it obvious I'm not carrying anything on my person. A bit later, and before I got the the checkpoint, she went inside.
When I got through the metal detector, I was pulled aside and given the most thorough screening I've ever had. When that was done, they did the same with my carryons, including doing the explosive trace test on every single piece of electronic equipment I was carrying - a nontrivial number. The whole affair took over 30 minutes. I told them I knew someone thought I needed to be taught a lesson, and they just mumbled.
When I left Cincinnati this evening, the whole process was a lot easier. I checked my luggage, and was pleasantly surprised to get on an earlier flight. That left me a scant 34 minutes to get through security and on the aircraft. I stopped, took off my street clothes (which I wear over the unitard on the days I'm traveling), stuffed them in my backpack, and went through security with no hassles at all. I rushed to the gate, still in just the unitard, and gave the gate agent a real surprise. We talked a bit as I was putting my street clothes back on; I explained why I do that, and that I have absolutely no self-consciousness left about appearing in public in tights, and she got a good story to tell her kids when she gets home this evening.
It evens out: the bad experiences are balanced by the good ones.