Walking while white

First, an update on my job and living situation, which will segue into the ignominy of racial profiling that I've been forced to weather. I'm waiting tables at the Melting Pot, a slightly pretentious fondue restaurant right on DuPont Circle. For those of you not in the know, DuPont Circle is the most gay-friendly district in D.C. Now, you might have read that last sentence and decided that I pointed it out due to myopic Texan intolerance. I point it out, however, so that you understand the problems posed by the uniform that I wear to work. My uniform is a tight black t-shirt tucked into black pants, black shoes, etc. Add to the mix the fact that my hair is cut short, that I actually style it occasionally and that I still carry my (very manly) Bolivian man-purse, and I find myself that recipient of more male attention than a half-naked jogger in a room with Sam Wright. Now, when I come out of work, I tend to have real loud conversations on the phone about my fantasy football team, fried foods, the large trucks I like to drive, and my love for the female form. If you find yourself on the receiving end of these phone calls, just roll with it. Thanks.

That job pays the bills, but I didn't come out here to wait tables. Last week I started at Citizens for Global Solutions (globalsolutions.org), a fairly progressive non-profit. They work for more engagement with the international community, ratification of the UN Law of the Seas, membership in the International Criminal Court, and a lot of other things that would bore the hell out of you, so I'm going to stop here. I'm working on the external relations team, which means that I'll be lobbying Congressmen, getting our positions in newspapers, meeting with other non-profits, etc. It's about forty hours a week, and I'll be getting paid enough to cover my transportation costs (about 4 dollars a day). In retrospect, all of the vitriol that I heaped on my friends getting business degrees seems like it might have been unfounded. Yes, I got a degree that taught me how to think and gave me a "real" education. I doubt, however, that my friends who didn't "learn how to think" are making cheese fondue 35 hours a week. Whatever. That's the price for saving the world, and it'll look good when I campaign. In the future, please don't refer to what I'm doing as an "internship". I prefer to call it "pro bono employment", because that implies that I am independently wealthy and able to dedicate myself to altruistic causes. Something I didn't realize about this organization (hereafter referred to as CGS) is how progressive (liberal) they were. I agree with them on most topics, but they're to the left of me on several. I'm not sure how to convey to them my semi-conservative bent. I'm thinking about driving a Hummer limo to work while spraying Chlorofluorocarbons into the air. I'll then walk into work drinking oil out of the skull of a freshly-killed woodland creature and present a proposal to keep troops in Iraq, invade Canada and Mexico, and nuke a country a week until the world admits that global warming is fraudulent. That would get the point across, but might it be just a little extreme? Facetiousness aside, I really enjoy what I'm doing and am hoping for a raise to 30 dollars a week. Keep your fingers crossed for me. Anyway, now that you're filled in, onto my being racially profiled.

I get off work around 11 during the week and 1:30 on weekends. I take the metro home, and it's an 8 minute walk from the stop to my house. Three Friday nights ago I was walking home around 2 in the morning when a cop car pulled up next to me. The cops looked me up and down (damned work uniform!!) and asked me if I was ok. I responded affirmatively, and they then asked me if I was lost. I told them I was walking home and was almost there. What followed was about 15 seconds of silence, followed by an incredulous "you live here?" A little nonplussed, I told them yes. They told me to be careful and to keep an eye out for them if I needed help. Seriously...it's getting to the point where a white kid can't go anywhere these days without being hassled by the cops. Next time, they might even offer to give me a ride home. Where will it end? Anyway, I'm realizing this story might not mean as much to people who aren't familiar with D.C.'s quadrants, but this post is already a behemoth, so I'll fill you in next time. This is for you Kent Breard III.