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.