Three summers ago, I was attending a cookout at the home of a co-worker. A colleague, Abby, who I was friendly with approached me and she was a little tipsy. Another colleague, a male who sat a few cubes over from me, walked up and instantly became amused over her inebriated state. He pretended to be interested in what we were talking about, the whole time glancing at me and laughing at her.
We all made small talk, and I carried on as if her slurring wasn’t noticeable. We chatted about our plans to meet some other co-workers at a bar after the barbecue ended. And then she asked THE question.
“Can I ask you something? And please don’t think I’m racist,” Abby said.
Meanwhile, my other co-worker shoots me this wide-eyed look of oh no, what is she about to say because she’s drunk and may regret this conversation on Monday?
“Sure, go ahead,” I told her. I knew what she was going to ask me because everyone always prefaces this question the same way.
“Are you African-American?” she asked, as she inched a little closer to me.
“Yes, I am,” I replied.
“I thought so! I just think you’re gorgeous,” said Abby.
I giggled and thanked her for the compliment. She walked away and my other colleague and I shared a laugh over the turn the conversation had taken.
Monday came and word had spread because several co-workers approached me about what she’d asked me. Several of them were shocked about what she’d said. I wasn’t, I explained to them. She was curious and she wasn’t rude about it. It’s funny how a drunk-induced question created a dialogue for my co-workers and I to discuss my race.
We all made small talk, and I carried on as if her slurring wasn’t noticeable. We chatted about our plans to meet some other co-workers at a bar after the barbecue ended. And then she asked THE question.
“Can I ask you something? And please don’t think I’m racist,” Abby said.
Meanwhile, my other co-worker shoots me this wide-eyed look of oh no, what is she about to say because she’s drunk and may regret this conversation on Monday?
“Sure, go ahead,” I told her. I knew what she was going to ask me because everyone always prefaces this question the same way.
“Are you African-American?” she asked, as she inched a little closer to me.
“Yes, I am,” I replied.
“I thought so! I just think you’re gorgeous,” said Abby.
I giggled and thanked her for the compliment. She walked away and my other colleague and I shared a laugh over the turn the conversation had taken.
Monday came and word had spread because several co-workers approached me about what she’d asked me. Several of them were shocked about what she’d said. I wasn’t, I explained to them. She was curious and she wasn’t rude about it. It’s funny how a drunk-induced question created a dialogue for my co-workers and I to discuss my race.
Light and All Write 