Just Another Day Being Black In A White Space
No matter where we go, Black people will undoubtedly be reminded just how unwanted we are.
Recently, I hosted a friend from out of town who, upon arrival, asked if I knew of any place to get a good “sub.” Originating in the northeast, submarine sandwiches are a typical go-to for anyone looking to satisfy a lunch craving. Having grown up in the Boston suburbs but now living overseas, this friend longed for his favorite childhood meal and couldn’t wait to get his hands on one.
Done!
I knew just the place, an Italian Bakery & Deli 40 minutes north of Boston that made the world’s best chicken parm sub. The planets were beginning to align, or so I thought.
We arrived two hours before closing, plenty of time to get our grub on and catch up. After a brief tour of the establishment and drooling over all the pastries and Italian specialties, we made our way to the counter to place an order.
As we perused the menu board, an older woman suddenly appeared from behind the counter, and stood at attention without uttering a word. No greeting. No welcoming smile. No pretend acknowledgment. Nothing. It was obvious from the jump that she was in no mood to provide any degree of customer service.
