Most African Americans have experienced various forms of racism, white privilege and/or discrimination. From the disrespectful action of a cashier placing the credit card on the counter instead of placing in a Black hand- to the killing of a young Black woman asleep in her bed. Unfortunately, most African Americans can share multiple experiences of Living While Black… 

I, too, am a multi-recipient of discrimination and racist experiences. My most recent occurred one week prior to the murder of George Floyd by a Minneapolis police officer.

As part of my preferred ritual, I headed out early to complete tasks and run errands.  I double-checked for my mask, sanitizer and gloves prior to entering the grocery store.  After gathering my groceries, I got in the line to pay.  There were several displays and signs cautioning shoppers to practice social distancing. I was third in line and the cashier asked me to go to a different register, because another cashier was in route to assist. I hesitated because I was unsure when the additional cashier would arrive.

Within seconds, the additional cashier beckons for me to load my items onto the belt for checkout.  The cashier is scanning rapidly and I cannot keep up with her quick movements.  While working feverishly to load the belt, a Caucasian male begins loading his groceries – clearing ignoring the signs indicating six feet distance. I asked politely for him to wait until I’m finished.  He ignores me and continues to load his groceries, although my cart isn’t half emptied.

With my groceries loading slower, the cashier looks up and notices the other customer’s groceries on the belt. She asks him to remove the items, but he ignores her and continues to load. Yelling louder, the cashier asks again. I say, “Sir, please wait until I am finished.” Annoyed, he picks up two items. I move forward, still unloading, and he immediately loads his groceries again. 

By now, I’m fully aware he’s exercising his privilege to do as he pleases. I ask if he can read. This question fuels his disdain and we engage in a loud, heated verbal disagreement. Other customers are bug-eyed as the negative exchanges were hurled. He, then, threatens to harm me physically. Instantly the security door flies open with two White personnel existing rapidly to assist. Instead of assisting me, they kindly open an additional register for him – engaging him in small talk and laughs as if the threats never occurred.  The mute cashier never looks me in the eye as I pay the bill and exit.  

Loading the groceries into my car, the man exists the store and drives to my car. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding an object, he threatened, “I told you I was gonna get you. What do you have to say now, you fat, ghetto N-Word?” I’m certain he had a gun and fully intended to use it, as he looked around the parking lot for eye witnesses. I immediately regretted not bringing the gun (in hindsight, it was for the best). 

As a St. Louis City native, my buried thug-like tendencies resurrected immediately.  My blood boiled as the racial slurs rolled off his tongue.  I engaged and hurled heated insults back at him. He suddenly notices two occupied parked cars next to me and speeds off the lot.  Hot tears of rage, hurt and fear flow as I stumbled to the front seat.

No matter how many times I’m called the N-Word, it still carries the same hard pain and deep hurt.  As I sat in the car, I fully grasp the painful truth: everyday there’s a chance I could become the next hashtag by “Living While Black”.