Nigger, Nigger, Nigger, Nigger, Nigger .....

It was a beautiful Spring day. I was working at a firm on 55th and Madison at the time. It was lunch time and I had run out to pick up an order that I'd placed at Burger Heaven on Madison Avenue at 49th Street. I was doing mostly appeals by then, and the case I had left on my desk was weighing heavily on my mind: the documents had to be compiled; and our argument at the lower level hadn't been successful. How could I state our case differently this time around?

I got my food and started to walk back uptown on Madison, going with the flow of traffic. Madison Avenue is a busy street and it was taking a while for the light to turn. I kept walking, turning every now and again to see if there was a gap in traffic where I could dash across the street.

Unbeknownst to me, an older white woman was tracking my progress. And she had convinced herself that I was following her. She was nervous, expecting my every move to turn into an ambush. Oblivious to her fear, I walked and stopped, walked and stopped. Finally, a break in the traffic and I prepared to sprint. Her sudden movement stopped me; she twirled around and pointed a long bony finger at me.

"Stop following me!" She yelled as loudly as she could muster. (I'm sure she must've read that in a self-defense book somewhere.) I froze. A million thoughts zoomed through my head. Was she talking to me? I turned my head to see if there was anyone else close by. Nope, just me. She was most definitely talking to me. Alrighty, then. I figured she was a nut. This was New York City after all. I started to walk again -- I was simply going to ignore her.

"Why are you all always following me??! Nigger! Nigger! Nigger! Nigger! Nigger! Nigger! Nigger!"

I lost count of the number of "niggers" that fell out of that woman's mouth. I was absolutely rooted to the spot. I couldn't make myself move. The anger coursed through my veins. I wanted nothing more than to back-slap the old hag. As soon as my self-imposed paralysis lifted, I think I actually took a step or two in her direction. But then I stopped myself. Whatever had happened to this woman, whatever she had been taught, that had brought about such an irrational hatred of Black people, was not going to be helped by my becoming violent with her or even by telling her a few choice words. So I did the only thing I could -- I walked away from her. Even knowing as I did, that she would think she had been "triumphant" in her face-down with a bonafide Negro who was trying to rob her.

In hindsight, I realize that my anger at that woman's outburst didn't arise because of her bigotry. I am Black and Hispanic; I have faced racism before. It was because, for that one moment in time, I felt like I fit in. There I was, working at a prominent firm, my kinky hair relaxed into submission, wearing my Brooks Brothers suit. And all that woman could see was a thieving nigger. Go figure.