And Everything In Between

“Yes, it’ll be the yellow curry again…” Have you ever gone somewhere so often that they know your order? Literally like, “What is it today? The yellow curry or the spicy soy beef?” If I weren’t Black, my cheeks would be bright red. Hold up — because I don’t even go there that much. Or maybe I do. Maybe I go just enough that my order has somehow become a sacred touchpoint between the excited Thai restaurant folks who have gotten my shekels again and me 😂. Tonight in particular, I wonder why  embarrassment  (in my African accent) was the first feeling I felt. Maybe because it puts into perspective the many times my Wells Fargo card has found its home here. Or maybe I wonder if they think I’m a big back who never cooks for himself. Or maybe — just maybe — I’ve stuck around enough, visited enough, shown my teeth enough, to be known in this way. I sit here on a Friday night at 6:42 p.m. as an older white woman sings that one song by  Fleetwood Mac  — “And I saw my reflec...