IBARW #2: What I Should Have Said
Aug. 11th, 2007 08:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dunmurderinInspired to mention this because of this post by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
surrealphantast.
My first big job right out of college was working at a local industrial laundry. I was on second shift and the racial makeup of the job was roughly 50/50 black and white. Racially, the job was mixed, at least in that we all worked together running cloth napkins and tableclothes and etc. through gigantic steam presses for eight to ten hours a day. At lunches and breaks, though, workers tended to split along racial lines.
I liked to think that I was on pretty good terms with people on both sides. In my own mind, I was a good little white liberal and hey, we were all in this job thing together, right? Being white didn't get me any special privileges in the job -- well, unless you count that I was there for a while I got to run the packing table which meant I could occasionally sit back and relax briefly instead of constantly having to fold things. But it's not like I wasn't still sweating it out like everybody else (temperatures inside ran at least 10-20 degrees hotter than the outside, which was great in December but hell in June and August) or like my feet didn't throb when I left for home at night.
At this time, I didn't have a car. Instead, I'd ride the bus into work and have a friend pick me up or get rides home from coworkers. One night, I got a ride home with three Black coworkers, at least two of whom I was on good, friendly terms with (the third was friends with the two of them and someone I don't think I worked with very often -- this was 13 years ago so my memories on the specifics are shaky).. We were heading home close to midnight, it was late, I was tired and as we were leaving the building, I called one coworker by the other coworker's name.
What exactly I said, I can't remember. I think it was something like "Hey, Tina (not either person's real name; sadly, I can't remember either's name) blah blah blah blah" -- nothing of any real importance, just some conversation about something. The name switch was accidental; I knew who I was talking to but my brain seized up and the wrong name came out.
But what I said prompted the third coworker, an older woman named Gladys, to give me a scathing look at say something to the effect of "That's all right, we all look alike" in tones that made me feel about two inches high.
I didn't say anything. I was too stunned -- and it's probably just as well because my initial response would likely have been "No, but they do!" (meaning the two co-workers in question). Which was true since they were both about the same height, similar builds and were wearing the exact same hairstyle. The main difference was that one coworker was probably ten to fifteen years older than the second.
I didn't say anything because I didn't know what to say. "I didn't mean it; it was an accident" was true but accident or not, I'd hurt peoples' feelings. If I break a glass on accident or on purpose, the end result is the same -- the glass is broken.
I didn't say anything because what could I say? "I'm not a racist! I have cousins who are Black!" is true but doesn't give me some automatic protection against being a racist any more than my aunt being a professor means I can teach college classes. Or my uncle being a farmer means I can drive a tractor.
I definitely didn't say "Funny, I never complain when you guys get me and Kim confused with each other when she's six feet tall, blonde and in her early to mid 30s and I'm five foot six, brunette and in my early 20s and the only thing we have in common is that we're both white women whose first names start with 'K'" even though it was also true I knew damn well it wasn't the same thing. Me being called "Kim" instead of "Kathy" wasn't just one more case of people around me considering me interchangeable with all the other people of my race around me. At best, it was a case of "Kim" and "Kathy" being similar sounding names; at worst, it was a case of one or two people in question not giving a rat's ass about telling us apart. Besides, the idea of even being bothered by the whole Kim/Kathy mix-up thing didn't occur to me until after I'd stuck my size nine in my mouth.
What I didn't say -- what I should have said -- was "I'm sorry." I screwed up and I should have tried to make amends for it.
surrealphantast. My first big job right out of college was working at a local industrial laundry. I was on second shift and the racial makeup of the job was roughly 50/50 black and white. Racially, the job was mixed, at least in that we all worked together running cloth napkins and tableclothes and etc. through gigantic steam presses for eight to ten hours a day. At lunches and breaks, though, workers tended to split along racial lines.
I liked to think that I was on pretty good terms with people on both sides. In my own mind, I was a good little white liberal and hey, we were all in this job thing together, right? Being white didn't get me any special privileges in the job -- well, unless you count that I was there for a while I got to run the packing table which meant I could occasionally sit back and relax briefly instead of constantly having to fold things. But it's not like I wasn't still sweating it out like everybody else (temperatures inside ran at least 10-20 degrees hotter than the outside, which was great in December but hell in June and August) or like my feet didn't throb when I left for home at night.
At this time, I didn't have a car. Instead, I'd ride the bus into work and have a friend pick me up or get rides home from coworkers. One night, I got a ride home with three Black coworkers, at least two of whom I was on good, friendly terms with (the third was friends with the two of them and someone I don't think I worked with very often -- this was 13 years ago so my memories on the specifics are shaky).. We were heading home close to midnight, it was late, I was tired and as we were leaving the building, I called one coworker by the other coworker's name.
What exactly I said, I can't remember. I think it was something like "Hey, Tina (not either person's real name; sadly, I can't remember either's name) blah blah blah blah" -- nothing of any real importance, just some conversation about something. The name switch was accidental; I knew who I was talking to but my brain seized up and the wrong name came out.
But what I said prompted the third coworker, an older woman named Gladys, to give me a scathing look at say something to the effect of "That's all right, we all look alike" in tones that made me feel about two inches high.
I didn't say anything. I was too stunned -- and it's probably just as well because my initial response would likely have been "No, but they do!" (meaning the two co-workers in question). Which was true since they were both about the same height, similar builds and were wearing the exact same hairstyle. The main difference was that one coworker was probably ten to fifteen years older than the second.
I didn't say anything because I didn't know what to say. "I didn't mean it; it was an accident" was true but accident or not, I'd hurt peoples' feelings. If I break a glass on accident or on purpose, the end result is the same -- the glass is broken.
I didn't say anything because what could I say? "I'm not a racist! I have cousins who are Black!" is true but doesn't give me some automatic protection against being a racist any more than my aunt being a professor means I can teach college classes. Or my uncle being a farmer means I can drive a tractor.
I definitely didn't say "Funny, I never complain when you guys get me and Kim confused with each other when she's six feet tall, blonde and in her early to mid 30s and I'm five foot six, brunette and in my early 20s and the only thing we have in common is that we're both white women whose first names start with 'K'" even though it was also true I knew damn well it wasn't the same thing. Me being called "Kim" instead of "Kathy" wasn't just one more case of people around me considering me interchangeable with all the other people of my race around me. At best, it was a case of "Kim" and "Kathy" being similar sounding names; at worst, it was a case of one or two people in question not giving a rat's ass about telling us apart. Besides, the idea of even being bothered by the whole Kim/Kathy mix-up thing didn't occur to me until after I'd stuck my size nine in my mouth.
What I didn't say -- what I should have said -- was "I'm sorry." I screwed up and I should have tried to make amends for it.
