Angry Black Grandma Esquire

There are two people standing in line.

Him and me.

I am in front. He is behind me.

I have been waiting patiently for a single clerk to finish checking out a woman with a very large order. The young man had been behind me seconds.

A second cashier steps behind a cash register. She clearly calls out to the young man behind me, “I can help you next.”

I turn to look at him and he meets my gaze. Then he walks quickly to the cash register. Once there he turns to look toward me and he shrugs as if to say, “It’s not my fault. What can I do? She called me up here.”

Despite his mimed protestations, there was something he could have done. He should have said to the clerk “She was here first,” and awaited his turn.

That’s what I would have done.

Instead he chose to portray himself as a victim.

To me.

A Black woman.

Who had just been passed over so he could enjoy the benefits of being a White man.