I Could Have Died

We've all had experiences where we "could have died" of embarrassment. Some of us have had many. Often they are silly little moments that pass from memory after a short period. Other times, they can stick with us for months or even years. Sometimes, we continue to feel the embarrassment each time we revisit the event in our memories. Much of the time, there’s no great lesson to be learned from these events, but sometimes...

Sometimes we are given something to think about.

My wife and I had moved into our first place together. It was a simple 4 1/2 apartment. Nothing fancy. It was an older building and had once had a reputation of being mostly for seniors, but when we moved in there were mostly younger families with a few older residents who had been there for years. We didn’t know very many of our neighbours, however, as we tended to keep to ourselves.

After we moved in, the security panel in the lobby where visitors could buzz an apartment to be let in was never updated. For several weeks, my wife and I were still listed as “Mr. Patel” even though I had asked to have it changed a number of times. I would periodically check to see if our names had been added, but they never were.

On my way to work one day, I came down the stairs to the main floor and started walking toward the rear door to the parking lot. It was almost directly opposite the entry, though there was a dividing wall that blocked the view from each door.

I was on my way to work and thus was heading for my car, but since it had been several weeks since I had last checked, I decided I would look for our names in the entry.

I started walking toward the front but caught a glance of someone at the door about to come in. I immediately changed my mind and turned back toward the parking lot.

I used to be very self-conscious, which is why I had turned away. For some reason, I felt that I would look like a fool walking into the entrance only to turn around and go out the back as if perhaps I didn’t know where I was going.

I took several steps before it dawned on me that the person at the door was carrying multiple bags. Groceries, perhaps. I figured I should go and open the door for them since they would probably have a hard time fishing out their key to let themselves in.

I went to the door and pushed it open for the woman who was there. She was a woman of colour, perhaps in her late 40s or early 50s, and she was furious. “Do you think I am a thief?” she asked and I honestly had no idea what she was talking about. I had been smiling at her, but my smile fell away immediately.

“Do I look like a thief? Do you think I don’t belong here?”

In truth, I had never seen her before and we weren’t supposed to open the door for anyone we didn’t know, but I was too stunned to respond. Then she hit me with it:

“Is it because I’m black?”

I felt like I had been slapped. Why was she accusing me of this? It had never crossed my mind, but I just stared at her with my mouth open while she yelled at me. I didn’t know what to say, so I simply apologized, turned away, and went out the back door.

The incident bothered me for the longest time. I despise racism, but here I was, being accused of being racist because I hadn’t wanted to look dumb walking in and out of the entry, which would have actually been infinitely preferable.

But although it made me feel horrible to be judged that way, it was not lost on me that she felt I had been making judgments about her. I was offended, but how much worse must it be for her? It’s not hard to imagine that she would face such prejudice periodically, if not frequently, just for the colour of her skin.

I went from embarrassed to angry to sad in just a few heartbeats.

Almost 20 years have passed since that day and I still remember it clearly. I can remember the embarrassment. I can remember the anger. I can still feel the sadness. I was judged by a stranger, but at least I can say it was because of how a stupid thing I did was perceived.

What must it be like to be judged every day for something far less relevant like skin colour?