Janine was in the bathroom when a guy sat down at the next table. The waitress took his order right away, but he was particular about his omelet and gave confusing instructions. It took a couple tries before the waitress got it right. When she left for the kitchen, the guy winked at me. He leaned forward on his elbows and said: “I’m not prejudiced or anything, but…” He looked behind to make sure the waitress was out of earshot. “Those black girls can be so damned slow. I mean, it’s not like it’s their fault or anything. It’s just the social condition, eh? But still, you’d think a restaurant could hire kids with more on the ball.”
I wanted to tell the guy that I thought he was a pig, but I didn’t. I don’t like confrontation. I’m the kind of person who wants everyone to get along. Instead of telling him what I thought, I gave a faint smile and used a potato wedge to dredge the lake of ketchup I’d poured on my plate.
The waitress set a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice in front of the man, then walked away. While he poured cream into his coffee, the man told me a joke. It was a joke about black people and watermelons and big lips. The only thing missing from the joke was the word “nigger”. But I could hear it filling the silence after the punch line.
Janine came back from the bathroom and sat across the table from me, blocking my view of the man at the next table.
The man at the next table pushed back his chair and rose so he could see me over Janine’s afro. “Oh, this is just great,” he said. The man’s face was bright pink, like he’d been holding his breath. “This is so fucking rude, how you let me go on and on when you know full well…” He pointed to Janine and her dark skin. The man was like a boiler. If he didn’t let off some steam, he’d explode. He stood, clenching and unclenching his fists. If it weren’t for all the people watching, he would have let off steam by cracking me across the jaw. Instead, he grabbed a bottle of ketchup and squeezed a stream of it into my face. As I spluttered, the man tossed the empty bottle under the table and stomped from the restaurant. I turned to watch the man leave, and as I returned to face Janine, I saw my reflection in the front window. I was covered in ketchup. I was redder than an Indian. I smiled at Janine and said: “I’m not prejudiced or anything but…” and I went on to tell her a joke I’d heard when I was a kid. It was a joke about Indians, an eagle feather, and antifreeze.