I Don't Want Any Trouble

We went out to dinner for my husband's birthday the other night. It was late and the restaurant we wanted to go to was already closing...South Suburbs and all. We ended up going to a little pizzeria in Homewood. Nice little place.

There was a large party of White folk -- about six or seven people all in their 50s and 60s. There was also a large party of Black folk -- three kids around 10-12 years old and three men, all 40ish, who were watching the end of the Bulls game. Both groups were in the last stages of paying their bills, gathering themselves and their belongings, etc. The "Pink Party" was ready to leave first. The server took their check, said goodnight, and the people left. As the "Brown Party" began to stand up, the server and another employee began putting up chairs on top of the nearby tables. By the time the Brown Party got to the door to exit, every chair in the joint was up and the entire floor swept. Mind you, no frantic floor sweeping was going on as the Pink Party got up to leave. No "get the heck out" chair stacking. Not to mention that our pizza hadn't even arrived at our table yet. But let's not jump to conclusions. Let's give them the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps the staff was tired. Maybe this was the usual time that they began their side-work. I was a server once, too. Thus my savvy use of the restaurat lingo. No need to play the racism card. Yet.

The other employee (I'm sooo hoping he wasn't the manager) came over to our booth. I was partially blocked from his field of vision, so all he could see was my pale-complectioned, straight-haired, Innuit-looking husband and our two beige children. He said, "We're not trying to rush you guys. It's just they've been here since before the game started. They've had two bottles of wine and some beers. I don't want any trouble."

Now, this is a pizza joint. And the Brown Party bought and paid for two bottles of wine. Plus beers. I would think they would be the favored customers, since their check average was probably pretty good. Especially good for a Tuesday night. And they weren't drinking dangerous, trouble-maker drinks: shots of Tequila, Maddog 20/20, or OE. They were drinking wine and beer. Robert and I looked at each other after this man's last statement, "I don't want any trouble." We silently acknowledged to one another how wrong this statement was. We said nothing, and I hid behind Robert's head ever further, now hoping this man couldn't see me. He and the server cleared our plates -- we'd eaten our pizza as quickly as possible to get the heck up out of there. The server gave us our check as she and this the man helped clear away our straw wrappers and dirty napkins.

And then he said it again. For no apparent reason this time. Did he think we didn't hear him the first time? Did he really not see me or was it for my benefit that he repeated himself? Was he reiterating this ridiculous comment in order to get us on his side? Like, if he said it a certain way we would empathize with him? Or was it a warning to me? Oh, yeah, I'm so threatening. I'm a buck-twenty with my clothes on and I'm pretty darn wimpy-looking. But there it was. "I don't want any trouble." Thanks for that. Happy birthday, honey.

- Inda