When comedian Paul Mooney used to use the n-word, he did a bit called "Nigger wake up call." It's an incident that reminds black folks that no matter how much status they've achieved, that they're really still just niggers.
Well, I had one of those on MLK day. Just minutes after listening to an account of a wealthy black woman get mistaken for house help in her own home that was on NPR as part of their King day coverage, I wandered into the Target store in St. Louis Park.
I'm standing in line with a few items. I notice that the white cashier is finishing pleasantries with the white woman in front of me. As I step up, the cashier suddenly clams up. She doesn't make eye contact, and the only words she says to me are "you need to give me another 17 cents."
I politely apologize and hand over another dollar.
She ends the transaction by handing me the receipt. I'm looking right at her as I put my receipt in the bag and start to walk away. She doesn't look at me and instead turns to the next customer and says 'hello.'
I stop and turn and obviously stare at her. I must be scaring her now, because she's obviously trying to ignore me.
As I leave the store I'm literally shaking with rage. I hate anger. It makes me queasy. Maybe it's one of the reasons that I don't allow myself to get angry very often. I steel my eyes at the sight of the hoards of white people coming into the Target as I leave. I'm pissed. I'm so tired of white people at this point. But now I'm mad mostly at myself for not saying anything; for not asking for a manager and explaining what just happened.
But I'm not confident that I could do so without coming off as just another angry nigger.
As I drive away my indignation grows. And I actually find myself saying out loud, "don't they know who I am? they pissed off the wrong black man. I'm a fuckin' reporter for motherfuckin' Minnesota Public Radio. Don't they know what I can do to them?
The next day I tell my editor about what happened and he literally recites the same lines. He tells me to write a letter to Target and tell them who I am. He's an older white man who grew up in the South and has learned to hate racism because he's seen it up close.
But he hasn't felt it. And I find myself inclined to not fire off a letter to Target.
When it all comes down to it, I am just another black person. And my story is no different from so many I've heard from middle class, well to do Af Ams who also suffer these indignities and then tell me because they expect that a black journalist can do something about it.
