I was talking to a friend of mine the other night about what’s been going on in the world. And I told him to toss out the idea that racism is based on hate. Sure, some of it is, but hate based racism is such a small piece of the pie. If you could magically remove all the rest of it, and just keep the hate-based racism, I’d take that deal in a heartbeat.
The racism I experience most often are the indignities.
I wish I was a mathematician so I could write out an equation for you to understand.
It would go something like, Interactions with white America are directly proportionate to the frequency of indignities you will experience in any given day.
Wherever we live, no matter how much money we make, how famous we are, how many degrees we have on our walls, it never changes the equation.
***
Once upon a time I wrote my father an $800 check for some work he did for me. Together we went to MY bank (NBD Bank before it became Chase) for him to cash the check. He was still wearing his working clothes, paint splattered overalls and boots and a slightly less paint splatted t-shirt underneath.
I waited in the car.
He returns a few minutes later with the check I had written him still in hand.
They’d refused to cash it.
I was angry. I was also hurt. I hurt for him. I knew why they didn’t cash it. He knew why they didn’t cash it. He wanted to leave. Instead I got out of the car. I told him not to leave. I was angry yes, but I was angry at myself. I was angry that I had put my father in a position to suffer yet another indignity in what had been a life of indignities.
I should’ve known that a bank won’t cash a check for a black man that they had never seen before who comes in looking like he just got finished painting a bedroom.
I walked in. There was no line. There was only one cashier. Let’s call her Gladys.
Gladys and I knew each other. This was before direct deposit, so I saw her every week when I came to deposit my paycheck. I would catch her from time to time briefly rolling her eyes or taking deep breath before motioning me over to her window. In other words, she was never welcoming or pleasant like you would expect a cashier to greet a customer. So yeah, her customer service sucked. But not for everyone. I never saw her interacting with white customers the way she did me. With them she would laugh. Talk about plans for the weekend. Talk about the weather. Make small talk. Be pleasant. I only knew she could be this way from watching her interact with white customers. She was never that way with me and I came in here every week.
Gladys took one look at my face and knew why I was there. I could tell from the way she looked at me that she knew what was about to happen. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had already put her finger on the silent alarm for the police.
If you think that didn’t cross my mind at the time…
I already had my bank card and ID ready in hand along with my check.
“Excuse me,” I said, “I just sent my father in here with a check I had written him to cash and he says that you refused to cash it.”
“Uh, yes but…”
I interrupt her. “…could you do me a favor and look to see if I have sufficient funds in my account to cover this check?”
I slid her my cards and the check under the glass.
“Sure,” she said. Instead of finishing the sentence that I had rudely interrupted she began clicking away at her keyboard while glancing down at my ID.
“Yes you do Mr. Steward.”
So help me understand, how this whole check thing is supposed to work? I bought a book of checks from you but I’m am not allowed use them because the only way you are going to cash them is if I personally come and cash them myself?
She just stared at me saying nothing.
I could only assume that her cultural sensitivity trainer warned her of the futility of engaging with an angry black man speaking entirely in rhetorical questions.
****
Then there was the time my computer monitor broke on me and seeing that I spend 25 hours of a 24 hour day in front of one I was desperate to get it replaced.
I had a store right by my apartment. I had to work late that night but I could swing by on my way home.
I called ahead of time and asked if they had any in stock. They did. I asked them if they accepted checks. They did. I was like “cool I will be there in 20 mins”.
20 minutes later I show up and my monitor is behind the counter with my name on it.
Now that is customer service.
I patiently wait in line. When it was my turn I walked up to the cashier and I tell him who I am and that I am there to buy the monitor they had put aside for me.
I pull out my checkbook. This next part is important. There is a sign right under the cash register that reads “We accept checks”.
I reach into my wallet to grab by ID and the cashier says, “Hey you have a debit card why don’t you just use that?”
Well actually why I wasn’t using it was none of his business, but for the sake of the story I will tell you.
My debit card had been compromised. I saw charges on my card that I didn’t recognize. Someone had purchased some things at a convenience store I had never been too, and I called the bank and they had shut down the card so whomever had my card information couldn’t make any more fraudulent purchases.
I told him, “I don’t want to use that card I want to pay for this with a check.”
I recognize his voice from when I called earlier. So I felt confident to say “YOU,” I said, “told me over the phone that you accept checks. So what is the problem?”
This guy was ridiculous.
“I’m not accepting that. You have a debit card. You need to use that.”
He practically reached for my wallet to pull my card out.
There was a line behind me. I could hear the customers literally groaning, they felt humiliated for me. This guy was way out of line.
But wait, it would get worse.
“The card will not work”, I insisted.
Why not? He asked like I owed him an explanation.
Again, none of his business, right? There is a sign right by my elbow that reads, “We Accept Checks”.
“It’ll work,” he insisted.
Like a dumbass I gave him the card in hopes that my bank hadn’t shut it down.
They had.
And it came back denied.
This dude went off on me in front of all the customers in the store about how I was trying to steal his monitor that I represented everything that was wrong with society…
I told you he was on some shit.
Now don’t read any further if you don’t like foul language.
I was humiliated. And like the story before, I quickly became furious. The only thing that prevented me from turning into a green rage monster was that apparently I’m gamma ray deficient.
“Man shut the @#$% up.” I told him. “Call my @#$% bank. You see the number on the damn card. Call it @#$%.”
Niceties were over.
I didn’t want anyone to leave that store. I wanted to lock the door myself to stop anyone from leaving. Since they witnessed his humiliation of me as far as I was concerned, they were required by the biblical law to witness the humiliation of him.
He called. He was tapping his foot the entire time.
He handed me the phone. I told the person on the other line my name and gave them my pertinent information. I told them that I was in the middle of a store trying to buy a $250 computer monitor. I asked them, “Do I have sufficient funds in my account to cover a check for it.
“Are you serious?” They asked me.
“Yes I am serious. Do I?”
“Yes you do.” She said.
I then told her that I am going to need you to tell that to this dumbass.
I handed him back the phone.
He didn’t say anything. His body language, facial expression, everything changed.
He went from being indignant and thwarting my plans to continue ruining society to “damn I @#$% up” in seconds.
He didn’t say anything to the lady on the phone. What was he waiting for? I wasn’t going to let him rob me of my pound of flesh. So, I said forcefully, “Ask her @#$%”
He asked sheepishly.
He hung up the phone. Immediately he starts apologizing to me. Telling me about how people have beaten him with bad checks in the past and all this other BS.
“What the @$% does that have to do with me?” I asked him. Again, I am speaking in rhetorical questions. “I told you the card wouldn’t work. That is why I was writing a check in the first place. You told me over the phone that you accepted checks. Then when I get in here you suddenly won’t accept mine???”
Racism isn’t just about dealing with people who hate you. Again, my experience has been suffering indignities quite literally throughout my entire life. One day it’s not being able to cash a check in a bank because they don’t know who you are or the next day it is someone shamelessly and arbitrarily changing store policy because they’ve had a few “bad” experiences.
If you are black in America every interaction you have with white America could potentially spiral into one of these. It doesn’t every time, thankfully, but the potential is ALWAYS there and at some point, in your life you stop being surprised whenever it does.
But it doesn’t hurt any less.
