Perspective and Fear

Sometimes people will ask me about my life experience related to racism, profiling, prejudice, and/or discrimination. Other times people will simply say how they could not begin to understand what life must be like as a Black man, who grew up in the South, lives in the Northwest, and works in education. We each are on our own unique paths which we have and will continue to travel. Only through intentionally investing time in each other can we better understand where each of us has been, where we are presently, and where we are looking to go in our lives. With this in mind, I would like to share a short story of an experience almost 20 years ago related to this topic.

August 1997, I was driving from Atlanta, Georgia to San Antonio, Texas. I had just finished a visit with my family before heading to my next military assignment at Fort Sam Houston. It was early in the afternoon and I had just crossed the border from Mississippi into Louisiana when I noticed that I would need to stop soon for gas.

Now having grown up in the South, I was often warned by my parents, family, and friends to be careful while travelling, stay close to the freeway, stop only in developed areas where there are a lot of people, and importantly, avoid stopping at night. It was early afternoon, so it was light out, but the small gas station off I-20, at the exit for Start, Louisiana was far from developed, and as I pulled up to a pump, the number of people outside increased to an astounding... 1(yes, including me).

I walked inside and was "greeted" by a large, older, white man standing behind the counter. For those of you who know me, for me to say someone was large should carry a lot of weight (pun clearly intended). When I say "greeted", I should say that I walked in and received no acknowledgement for a few moments, which felt like an eternity standing in this service station a few hundred feet from the freeway, yet situated only a few short yards from the woodline. I said hello, to which I did not receive an immediate response. At this point, I thought I should just leave, but I needed gas and was unsure of how far I was from the next developed area. Then we began our exchange...

Clerk: "How can I help ya?"

Me: (moderately annoyed and having the only car at a pump, kinda like really?!?) "I need to fill up." Handing over the $40 dollars I had pulled out as I approached the counter half an eternity ago.

Clerk: "Which pump are you on?"

Me: (again in my head, really?!?) "Pump #1. Right out front, silver car."

Clerk: (Looking at me silently for a moment before turning to do something behind the counter) "Alright, it's ready. You think you gonna have any change?"

Me: (At this point I'm thinking, oh Lord, I hope I don't have any change because I really don't want to go back in.) "Probably. We'll see."

I pump my gas and sure enough, I have about $8 left in change. I thought to myself, how bad do I need that $8? I hesitated before going back in. Adding to my hesitation, a blue pick-up pulled up next to the building. It did not park in a space, nor did it pull up to a pump. The driver simply pulled up next to the building and sat there behind the wheel. It wasn't until years later that I heard the term "watershed moment", but I feel like this was one for me.

I walked back into the service station and the clerk again was on southern time responding to me. He leaned against the back of the counter, crossed his arms, looked at me stoically and began our second exchange.

Clerk: "You have Alaska plates on your car."

At this point, the door opens and the driver of the pick-up walks in and stands just inside the door. I begin watching him in the reflection on the glass counter (working in a club taught me something).

Me: "Yes, I was stationed in Alaska."

Clerk: "Well, what are you doing around here. We don't get many Alaska plates in this area."

Me: (Remaining calm and continuing to be aware of my surroundings) "Oh, I am on my way to Texas, my next duty station."

Clerk: (Looking quizzically) "From Alaska? You're in Louisiana now. You're past Texas."

Me: (Noticing the person by the door still has not moved, nor has the clerk made a gesture to return my change, making me a little more anxious.) "Oh, I was visiting my family in Atlanta and I am now on my way to Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio. I am in the army and will be doing training there."

Clerk: (Leans forward and appears more relaxed) "Oh, you're a soldier?"

Me: "Yes! Army medic. Just re-enlisted earlier this year"

Clerk: "Oh really? I was a medic in the Air Force, a long time ago. I got injured and ended up getting out after about 3 years." (The clerk assumes a more conversational tone and posture while looking towards the door, appearing to make eye contact with the person still by the door, giving a nod. At this point, I see the reflection of the figure by the door move and exit the building.)

Me: (Trying to process all that is going on around me and still waiting on my change.) "Thank you for your service, sir."

Clerk: "Thank you as well." (At this point, he begins to go into more about his life and all I really want to do is get back on the road. He finally moves towards the register and begins counting out my change.)

Me: "Thanks for the chat, but I still have a few hours left on the road and need to get going."

Clerk: "Absolutely. Here's your change. You be safe out there now."

Me: (Walking towards the door) "I'm working on it."

For almost 20 years, I have have shared that story with the few people who have ever asked me about my experience with racism, profiling, prejudice, and/or discrimination. I reflect on it as a time when I was unsure if I was going to walk out or get out of there without some kind of altercation. Reflecting on some issues in our present society of "fake news", "alternative facts", and fear, I have forced myself to shift my perspective.

As an older man, working alone in a service station off the freeway, surrounded by woods, what was he thinking when this car with chipped paint rolled up with out of state plates? Specifically plates from Alaska in Louisiana.

Profiling or prejudice on both of our parts? Possibly. Fear of the unknown, until we took a moment to talk with and learn more about the other? Probably. Perspective.