On the Racial Dynamics of Bus Boarding
Yesterday, as I was getting on the bus to go visit my new home and meet my new landlady and sign the lease agreement, I slipped through a jumble of high school students queued up to use the money-ticket machine. Me ‘n’ the picture of me on my bus pass smiled at the driver and walked to a seat. While staring out the window, I suddenly remembered this post:
As we walked down the long sterile corridor, we came to a big double door with a large sign that said in bold block letters: ICU, KEEP OUT, NO ADMISSION, AUTHORIZED MEDICAL PERSONNEL AND IMMEDIATE FAMILY ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT, NO EXCEPTIONS. I turned to Bobby and whispered that somehow I didn’t think I’d be able to pass as one of his sisters, and maybe I’d better go back. Bobby shrugged and said, “It’s ok, rules don’t apply to white people.” I was dubious, but sure enough the (white) nurse on duty just looked at me and nodded, and we walked right through the security checkpoint and into Bobby’s mother’s curtained cubicle without incident.
… and hey! Didn’t I just queue-jump through a line of brown kids? I did, I totally did!