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Friend’s birthday, my dress is ruined.

Celeste Bourdeau de Fontenay
Newark, NJ

I attended a dinner for a friend’s birthday at a nouveau riche- bling, expense account, restaurant in New York a few blocks from the Westside Highway. I was the only African American at the table and some of the staff had issues. One of the servers could not pour water, place bread, etc without dropping it in my lap. When I made a comment the only response was a smug smile and shrug of the shoulder. I realized that none of my fellow dinners noticed this activity. When I mentioned it to my friend her response was to scold me for not letting her know even though she sat immediately on my right side.

Several weeks later I attended a board meeting for a national organization. The meeting was held in Philadelphia. The dinner for board members was held at a nice but not blingy restaurant. The waitress accidentally dropped wine over my cashmere sweater. She apologized. The manager hurried over and gave me his card. He offered to have my clothing cleaned and offered to pay my dry cleaning bill as I was from out of town. I appreciated dining such a class act establishment. There was no phony need to prove pseudo-superiority.

You can sit in the bar

Diane Graves,
San Antonio, TX.

My husband and I (both Anglo) were driving our adopted daughter (born in El Salvador, adopted as an infant, a U.S. citizen since she was 11 months old) to a guest ranch in Colorado. It was 2004; our daughter was 11 years old. Late on Sunday morning, we stopped to have lunch in Alamosa, CO. My husband entered the restaurant first, and my daughter and I busied ourselves at a postcard rack while he asked for a table. The white, male, college-aged host eyed our family, spotted our daughter, and said, “You can sit in the bar.” My husband asked, “Why would that be? I see plenty of tables in the main dining room.” It was pretty clear why. Fortunately, a young female waitress pulled up and said we were welcome in her station. We were stunned–and grateful that our child didn’t realize what had happened. She only learned about it this year, when I asked her if I could submit this story. We are glad we live in multiracial San Antonio, but still worry what kind of nation we are becoming–and if our daughter can ever be accepted as American in the rest of the country. Recent rhetoric would indicate that she will have to be alert for profiling and other forms of bias. My heart is breaking now as it did that day. How many other people of color experience this kind of bias on a daily basis? We all can do better. We can BE better.

They were Asian and left 20%!

Caitlyn Rize,
Ann Arbor, MI.

As a waitress on a college campus, the people I work with constantly stereotype their tables before even walking up to them. Oftentimes the other servers will “give their table away” — meaning they don’t want to serve them — to us other servers who give everyone the chance to tip well. Other times, I’ve had hostesses mouth “sorry” to me as they walked away from the table. Though the stereotype is true at times, I don’t doubt that the same percentage of white people tip below the standard of 20%, though they aren’t constantly judged when they sit down at a table in our restaurant.

We don’t serve Your Kind Here!

Pilar Leano,
San Francisco, CA.

This was said to me in a small town of Fremont, Ohio. In fact, they got my nationality wrong also (they thought I was from Mexico). I still get comments like, you speak great English (even though I just told them I was born and raised in San Francisco). And that’s someone living in city? Really? Color or no color, we’re all human. Let’s treat each other with kindness.

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