A moment for being black in America
When Enterprise sent a car to come pick me up, it was a young black woman who drove up in a sedan.
"Are you Kyra?" she said.
"Cool," she said. "Sorry I actually drove by here before, but I didn't know it was you I was supposed to get."
"That's all right," I said.
"They're always sending me on wild goose chase!" she said. She laughed. "Sometimes they don't even tell me the name of the customer!"
"One time," she said, "I was picking up this lady and she was all like, 'Are you gonna shoot me?!'" My driver laughed again.
I looked at her. "What?" I said.
"'Are you gonna shot me?!' That's what the lady said. And I was like, 'No, I'm not gonna shoot you. I'm your driver.'"
I didn't know what to say, but I didn't laugh. I don't know what it feels like to live as a black person. But I do know what it feels like when you brush off a small moment like this one, then another, then another, until you realize that all these small moments have built themselves into a big wall of shit around you against which your own power can seem so small. And so I was sorry for her.