When I was but a little Kate, I remember an old white man getting out of his car and screaming at my brother, sister and me for playing with our black friends across the street. It’s something a 26 year old can’t absorb, let alone a five year old. Our town in North Carolina was almost evenly divided between black and white kids. (I assume this was before Hispanics and Asians were invented). After some initial confusion early on, I discovered I wouldn’t turn black if I colored my hands. When I lived in Iowa, I was confused why my class’ entire black population was named Marcus Hester.
Race relations continued rather swimmingly through high school, where I happily studied with, befriended and played soccer with whoever was around. Vakessha and I were going to get rich off our “expanded skin tones” line of Band-Aids.
I’ve learned about the many uses for a peanut and the miracle of the cotton gin, appreciate rap and wholeheartedly apologize for slavery.
In short, I’m the white devil.
It’s been a big week for race relations, what with Don “nappy headed ho” Imus, and the racially charged Duke lacrosse case coming to a close with the charges being dropped. For me personally, the highlight was having “fucking white bitch” screamed in my face for about 20 minutes on the subway platform.
I blame myself. I’d been home for a few days, where people are friendly. The biggest challenge I’d faced was fending off the onslaught of food from my mom. (She would be in her optimum state of happiness shoveling potatoes into our open mouths the entire time.)
So after work yesterday, when I couldn’t find my MetroCard and a pleasant voice calls out “I got you miss” and swiped me through (as people do for each other from time to time) I said thanks and gave him a wave.
“That’ll be $2.”
“I don’t have $2, that’s why I was going to the machine with my debit card.”
I went back through the turnstile up to the booth, and he followed me, yelling about what a spiteful white thief I was, how I stole $2 from him just like I stole this country. It will shock you to know the MTA guy who sold me my ticket watched this man scream at me and just brushed him off with, “You can’t sell swipes here.”
Again I go through the turnstile, assuming my new friend will want to stay at his post and let the matter die down.
He followed me, yelling in my face, less than a foot away. Flipping me off. Shaking his fists. Yelling racial slurs worse than any I could imagine. After my initial protests that I never owned slaves, you’re breaking the law and you didn’t lose money because you have an unlimited MetroCard I did something unusual and just shut up. He kept yelling, like an underground drill sergeant, and I stood there and took it, trying to figure out how to avoid the third rail when he inevitably pushed me onto the tracks.
People around me were looking concerned, no doubt trying to figure out why—and more importantly how—I’d personally enslaved and stolen from this man.
Then the train came, and he got on with me, still shouting in my face. I was impressed to no end how the young business guys around me handled the matter. There wasn’t a big confrontational, “Stay away from the lady or I’ll punch you” show of machismo. One guy took my elbow when the subway doors opened and put himself between me and the guy, then two other guys stood between us too, so there was a barrier around me that Angry Guy could continue to shout through.
I don’t know what made him decide to get off a few stops later, but thank God he did, because I had no plan of action. Start to finish it was about 20 minutes of unhinged screaming in my face. And I didn’t cry until he got off. Then I went to the gym and called the police.
P.S. This is the second time in as many months that I've been called a "Fucking white bitch." The other time was a guy collecting for that bogus homeless charity with the water bottles. Apparently he was new, because the guy training him had to point out "No, no, we don't say that to people." I think this officially upgrades being racially harassed to "On a fairly regular basis."
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