Thrive
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macking in the vegetable aisle

as i was debating which ears of corn I wanted (5 for $2 at whole foods!) some guy came up to me and asked me where I was from. I (tried) to roll my eyes internally as I asked for clarification of what he meant by “from” knowing full and well it was ‘hey gurl, you from the caribbean? you got indian in you?’

as I thought, he meant my background, to which I give the SAME answer every time…the US…as far as we can go back. thinking my facial expressions (which i can’t hide) would signal well enough to leave this trite line of questioning, he asks me my name. i gave a fake one as usual. he’s showering me with ‘oh you’re so beautiful’ and so on and so forth and I try and keep it moving.

just when he seems like he’s going to leave, he asks me if I’m taken. now i’m trying not to be like ‘NEGRO, WE’RE IN THE GROCERY STORE AND YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ME!’ but in my stammering trying NOT to say that, he’s all, “I guess I should know the answer’s pretty obvious.” (oh jesus).

and when I think he’s leaving again, he turns back around and is like, “I just thought you might be from the Ivory Coast or from the Fulani people.” …okay, so he could be full of shit, but he can at least name some things. and as I actually take a closer look at him instead of looking past the same men who do this, I see the pin on his backpack strap with something about African American pride, and a RBG necklace around his neck.

and then he asks, “Do you like cultural events? I’d like to invite you sometime.”

*resigned sigh* he pushed the correct button. he accessed the African American studies major, head of the BSU (and every other black org on campus), say-it-loud-I’m-black-and-I’m-proud, natural hair proponent part of me. he accessed the OBIE in me. he said cultural events. Dammit. So I gave him my e-mail address (not my phone number). We’ll see if he even uses it.

ALTHOUGH….i gave him a fake name. oops!

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