Preferential Treatment, Part Two

      This is the second part of a blog post about an experience I had at a restaurant last weekend.  In Part One I outlined the experience as honestly as I could, and the observations I made that led to my thoughts that the staff - almost all ethnic minorities, predominantly Black - were giving preferential service to Black patrons.  I did doubt myself at the time - I still do, as I'm writing this - and I hope that my knee-jerk conclusion is wrong.  I hope that my low blood sugar affected my powers of perception, and made me feel more paranoid and testy than normal.  I really don't like thinking that anybody is exhibiting racial prejudice for any reasons; as I've stated before, I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt.
      That being said, I'm far from ignorant.  I know too well the many different forms that prejudice can take.  And I'm very aware that usually that prejudice benefits me, as a White American woman.  But sometimes it doesn't.  When White people find themselves on the losing side of racial prejudice, they tend to react very negatively.  I'm trying to see this as an opportunity for learning, about myself and the society in which I live.
      So now that I'm thinking back over the events of the morning, my brain goes into Alternate Theory Mode.  (I'm starting to recognize this as my pattern.)  Maybe I missed something, and those tables with Black patrons were seated and ordered earlier than I thought.  Maybe those patrons were owners, or former employees, or family members--if we're being honest, we all give preferential treatment to those individuals.  Or maybe nobody was receiving special attention, and the kitchen just didn't have their act together.  After all, that White family seated to my right got their food more quickly than my husband and I.  It's totally possible that something wonky happened with our order.  There are plenty of perfectly logical reasons for the timing and order of food service that have nothing to do with race.

I realize it sounds entirely silly, but if there was some way to end racism through food, I would drop my career and make that my life's work.

      Then my brain goes into Explore the Meaning Mode.  To lay it out: what if my initial assumption was correct after all?  What does that mean to me?  What does it mean in a larger social context? What can I learn?
      So: if my initial assumption was correct, and my food order was intentionally delayed as the orders of Black patrons (and other minorities, for all I know) were put in the front of the list, what does that mean to me?  My first reaction is indignant anger.  I don't like unfairness in general.  And if I'm being honest, I like it even less when it negatively impacts me--particularly when it comes between me and my breakfast.*  There's a part of my privileged, restaurant experienced brain that says, "That is a piss poor business model, and a great way to alienate customers. Where is your pride in your work?"  I also feel hurt.  I think, "I'm a nice person!  I just wanted to eat breakfast!  Judging me on the color of my skin denies me who I am as an individual!"
      Well, duh.
      Which brings me to the question of a larger social context.  What if the staff there were prioritizing the orders of Black patrons?  What if they were using this restaurant as a space for people who get the short end of the stick in so many ways, so often, and making a small gesture to put them first for a change?
      There area couple problems: I'm pretty sure that giving preferential treatment to customers based on perceived race is illegal.  I say "pretty sure," because if there's one thing I've learned in the last few years, it's that laws vary more from state to state than one might expect.**  But more importantly, it goes against a moral code to which the majority of Americans believe that they adhere.  Given the legacy of the 1960's and the Civil Rights Movement, I think most of us have very strong reactions to blatant exhibitions of racial prejudice, particularly when it comes to service industries.

The Supreme Court abolished segregation in public businesses with the Civil Rights Act of 1964.  The way the law is written, is applies all ways, across all races.

      After segregation became illegal, many business establishments attempted to discourage minorities from coming by treating them badly.  This still happens today, way more often than most people know--or are willing to admit.  And I know exactly how I would react if I thought a restaurant were giving preferential treatment to White customers: I'd call my friends who are lawyers and try to get it shut down.  That being said, I noticed who was receiving food at the restaurant over the weekend because I was the one being kept waiting.  Would I notice if I was the one being moved to the front of the list?
      Historically, how many places gave preferential service to ethnic minorities over White people?  If my order was pushed back in favor of others, still I wasn't refused service, and no real damage was done.  Do I have an ethical leg to stand on in being bent out of shape?
      I don't like unfairness to be encouraged or tolerated in any sense.  It may sound idealistic, but I believe it is detrimental to an individual if they are taught that it's Ok to discriminate for any reason.  I recognize and honor the statistical foundations of Affirmative Action, but I also admit it took me awhile to really believe it was necessary, and to get on board.  I long for the day when the playing field really is level.  Cynically, I doubt that will happen in my lifetime.
      Here's the last thing my brain is processing on this before I get too flooded to continue: what if the restaurant gave preferential service to ethnic minorities, and everybody knew about it?  What if it was something they took pride in, because they wanted to make a political statement?
      Weirdly enough, if that were the case, I think I would make a point of eating there.  There are businesses I boycott because I dislike their politics--this would just be the opposite.  Then I would feel like I was a part of a socio-political statement, instead of a victim of prejudice.  Or even if the employees weren't doing it to make a statement, just to support fellow minorities, if they were honest and open about it, I would patronize their establishment to show my support as well.
      So what does all this say about me?  I guess I don't take kindly to being marginalized.  I don't want ANYBODY being marginalized, especially for utterly stupid reasons like skin color.  But, like most people, I'm more likely to get worked up when I'm the one impacted.



*Remember my three disclaimers from Part One: I am a breakfast-loving foodie who get cantankerous when my blood sugar gets too low.

**Especially in the area of civil rights.  Which is, frankly, downright alarming.

Preferential Service, Part One

      Last weekend, I had an interesting experience at a restaurant.  It was a diner with a cool theme in a city that my husband and I were visiting, and we were excited to check it out.  I did not expect that going out to brunch would bring race-related issues to mind--then again, that's part of being racially privileged, isn't it?  Anyway, I want to be honest about my experience, and objective in my introspection.  To accommodate the length I'm breaking this post into two part.  Part One is a summary of events from my perspective.  Part Two will be my reflections after the fact.  If you're up for it, I would appreciate your willingness to read both, and give me your feedback.
      But before I go any further, here are three things you should know about me, because they probably influenced my experience:

a) I am a foodie.  Not in the snobby way, in the "I really like food - buying it, making it, eating it, learning about it, and experiencing it in a wide variety of places" way.  I am equally happy eating in a hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant with peeling wallpaper and mismatched plates as I am stepping into a high-end restaurant with Wagyu beef flown in from Japan on a daily basis.

b) Breakfast is my favorite meal.  Everything from mimosas with eggs Benedict, to black coffee and hashed browns; from asparagus soufflé and brioche, to bacon and oatmeal, I am a breakfast person.

c) Perhaps most importantly, I get "hangry;" when my blood sugar gets too low I turn into a grumpy five year old version of myself.  Experience has taught me to time my meals throughout the day and carry emergency snacks.

      So here's an honest account of my experience at the restaurant. We arrived, and it was crowded, but since the host said the wait was only 15 minutes I wasn't worried.  As we waited for our table, I noted that the restaurant staff - waiters, cooks, host, etc - was made up of predominantly young Black people, a couple Hispanic people, and one individual who appeared White.  My reaction to this, as a professional who tries to work from a social justice perspective, was, "This is awesome!  It would appear that the owners make a point of hiring minorities, who typically experience negative prejudice in seeking jobs.  What a great, practical way to make social impact!"
      We were seated after 14 minutes, so I was a happy camper.  Our server - a young Hispanic woman - was prompt in bringing our water and taking our order.  When I asked for a recommendation on sausage vs. bacon, she answered promptly and with a smile, and I was happy to take her suggestion.**  I sat back, soaked in what the restaurant had done with their theme, and chatted away with my husband.
      At the table to my right was a family of five, all White, who had been seated about 10 minutes before us.  At the table to my left was a Black couple about my age. They were seated right before us, received their water right before us, and put in their order right before we did.  So when I saw the couple's food arrive after about twenty minutes, I expected our food to arrive next.
      Then I noticed the table to my right had not yet received their food.  I was a little surprised, but they did have a couple small kids.  I thought, "Maybe they ordered after we did, or put in a special order for the kids.  That would delay things."  That family got their food about 10 minutes later.  My husband and I were still waiting.
      When the Black couple to my left got their check, and my husband and I had not yet received our food, I started to wonder if our order had gone missing.  Unfortunately, the restaurant was crowded, loud, and busy, so there was no easy way to flag down a server to ask.  Then, before I could exert myself, my husband pointed out that our parking meter was probably about to expire.
      Note: we had paid for 90 minutes on our meter.

This sight does not promote good digestion.

      I was closer to the door, and I wanted to get up and use the washroom anyway, so I volunteered to go check the car.  It was when I got up and started walking that I noticed the effects of my low blood sugar.  My energy was low, my brain felt jammed, and my stomach was growling painfully.  We did, in fact, have only 19 minutes left on the meter, so even if the food had arrived by the time I returned, it was unlikely that we would have made it back to the car in time to avoid a ticket.  So I added another 40 minutes.
      I got back to the restaurant, and our food had not yet arrived.  I went to the restroom to wash my hands, which required squeezing past a table where two Black men were seated, just putting in their order.  I thought, "Good luck, guys, I hope you aren't prone to hunger-crankiness like I am."  When I returned to my table, the food had still not arrived.  At this juncture I began to debate whether or not to eat my protein bar, even though I had ordered a full hot breakfast. I decided to hold out another 5 minutes.  Just as I was about to get my snack, the server brought out our food.
      The food was tasty enough, but nothing fancy, and nothing spectacular.  And home-fried potatoes, three eggs over medium, three strips of bacon, and a muffin do not take an hour to prepare.  I thought, "Well, the place is busy, and maybe the kitchen isn't really big."
      That was when I saw the table with the two Black men receive their food--the ones I'd squeezed past on my way to the restroom.  It had only been15 minutes since they had placed their order.
      So yes, my brain went there.  I thought, "Oh my God, I think the staff is prioritizing the food orders of the Black patrons."
      I didn't say or do anything.  My husband and I were so hungry by that point that we wolfed down our food, paid, and left in under 20 minutes.  And I immediately decided I needed to process the experience in writing--so on to Part Two.



*Yes, I just described two of my favorite places.  No, I cannot afford to eat at the latter more than once every five years, unless someone else is buying.

**She said "bacon," and the bacon was the best part of my meal.

A Local Opportunity

      This is the second of these open community events.  I attended the first, and found it very grounding in a time when I felt emotionally adrift.  It was also partly what inspired me to start this blog.  Everyone is welcome!

When News Hits 1.1

      As more information about the murder of Paul O'Neal comes forward, people have - understandably - reacted with grief, and confusion, and anger.  They have also reacted with defensiveness, which is also understandable.  It's just also very sad.  When people feel defensive, they are the least likely to listen to others, or empathize, or learn.
      I just feel sick.  Over the weekend I was visiting extended family, watching the news, and when I saw the body camera videos being played I wanted to vomit.  I felt terribly sad for Mr. O'Neal and his family.  Imagine having a loved one killed, and then seeing a video of it broadcast all over the nation, showing the fear and chaos surrounding his death?  How can one possibly endure such a public horror?  The only thought that would keep me sane is if I believed that justice would ultimately be served.

I cannot begin to imagine what it would be like to be in Briana Adam's place, and I pray that nobody else ever will be. Photo Source: http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/breaking/ct-fatal-police-shooting-video-of-paul-o-neal-released-photos-20160805-photogallery.html

      I think it's our duty as compassionate human beings to see that justice is served for all of these wrongful, clearly race-related deaths.
      I had a brief but interesting discussion with my family after the clips were played.  The officers behavior was roundly condemned, for several reasons, including a few I hadn't even thought of.  It was pointed out that when they opened fire at the car they were being reckless on several counts, including the risk of injuring the driver  and having him cause further damage with his vehicle, and also the idiocy given their positions, since the officers themselves were in the crossfire.  Then there's the question of whether the driver's actions justified being shot to begin with.  Even if he intentionally tried to hit an officer with the car, does that equate the use of lethal force?
      One item brought up was the necessity of identifying potential "hot heads" before admission into the police academy.  As a psychologist, I don't know if that's really possible, but it sure as hell sounds like a good idea to me--can we screen for racist bias, too?  How about propensity to develop racist bias?  How about vulnerability to peer pressure, spoken or otherwise?
      The one thing we did not discuss at length was how race played a part in Paul O'Neal's death.  I asked right out, "Would the officers have opened fire if the suspect was White?"  A few comments were muttered, and then the subject was dropped.  My assessment was that my family - who had come together to enjoy themselves, support one another, and feel the replenishment of togetherness - did not want to risk such a charged topic.  I didn't push it.  I feel a little disappointed in myself that I didn't have the courage and fortitude to press the matter.  At the time, however, I told myself that there would be future opportunities.
      And that's the sad, horrible truth.

When News Hits

      When perusing the newspaper last Sunday, I found a small article providing an update on an internal investigation regarding a police shooting in Chicago.  Briefly (and I am sure this is not a complete story): Chicago PD pulled over a Jaguar that had been reported stolen.  After being stopped, the suspect tried to drive away, sideswiping a police car and another parked vehicle, so the police opened fire.  The driver was hit, and pronounced dead at the hospital.  An autopsy result on Friday showed that the man had been shot in the back, and his death was ruled a homicide.
      The driver was a Black man--but you probably already guessed that.

Photo Credit: Jose M. Osorio, Chicago Tribune

      The article said that a third police officer involved with the shooting has been "relieved of his powers" while the death is investigated.  Of course, Chicago PD has been under some serious scrutiny about these very issues for the last...how many years now?  But one has to wonder just what that actually means--what it actually looks like.
      When I started to read this article, I noticed that I was holding my breath.  I was actually bracing myself, thinking: "Ok, here we go...again."  My anxiety went up.  And then when I was done reading it, several thoughts went through my mind.  I want to recount that thought process here as honestly as I can, first with my initial thoughts, and then my reflection on those thoughts after the fact.
      First Reaction: "Holy $#!t, what are these police officers thinking!?!"
      Follow-up Reflection: Given everything that's been in the news in the last few years, if I was a police officer right now, I would be so freaked out about even being ACCUSED of abusing my power - especially with a suspect of a different race - I wouldn't even pull my gun unless somebody had already starting shooting at me.  (Which means I would probably wind up dead--I would make a lousy police officer.)  But the point is, I want to give most police officers the benefit of the doubt.  I have worked with a lot of street kids, and I have met some wonderful cops who bent over backwards to try and help.  I have also seen some men and women in uniform who were, for lack of a better word, complete assholes.  Most of the officers I met were somewhere in between.  But I'm a therapist, and I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.  Still...incidents like this keep making it harder.
      Second Reaction: "And what the hell was that driver thinking?!  He's a Black man being pulled over by police officers in Chicago while driving a Jaguar!  Whether guilty or no, what made him think trying to drive away wouldn't increase his risk of getting shot?!"
      Follow-up Reflection: But then I realize, Maybe that's why he tried to drive away.  Maybe he panicked.  Maybe he thought he'd be shot if he got out of the car--and maybe he was right.  Then my thoughts spiral, as they often do: maybe he was under the influence of alcohol or some other drug so his thinking was already clouded, or on the flip side maybe the whole thing was a set up and he was murdered in cold blood, or maybe he was threatening police before he hit the gas, and back and forth and back and forth and let's face it there's no way I'll ever know because I wasn't there.
      Third - and maybe most important - I finally thought: "But all of that's beside the point, isn't it?  Because nobody should have to be afraid of the police because of the color of their skin.  And, even if the police acted in the best possible faith, what kind of training are they receiving that they think it's a good idea to shoot at somebody driving away from them?"
      Fourth, I thought: "And why the heck did it take me so long to reach those conclusions?  What does that say about me?"

I Googled "Introspection" and this sculpture by Frank Somma came up.  It really captures my feelings when I write in this blog.

      What can I learn about myself?  And how can I use what I learn?