At this point, I didn’t want to pull the race card, so I focused on something good that I had noticed earlier — the hostess had the most beautiful green eyes. You could almost see through them. And yes, I did see through them.

But I had to get real. As I analyzed the situation, I realized the people before me that were seated were younger and seemed to be in good health and of the 95 percent race. So after really looking at the picture for what it really was, I asked if I could speak with the manager. The hostess proceeded to get the manager, and then she returned and said that the manager said he did not have time for me.

I repeated “he doesn’t have time for me?” She said yes. So, in this sequence, I asked for the manager’s name, the store number and a person or number I could call that hired the manager.

To my defense, one of the 5 percent customers said, it’s about time somebody spoke up. Then I realized that this must be a practice in this restaurant, in this small town and that there seemed to be a problem.

So, at that point, I inquired as to what town I was in because as I pulled off the highway, my concern wasn’t the town, but the large yellow sign that I recognized and knew that upon entering the place, my hunger pain would be satisfied. But it didn’t happen that way, so I left.

I thought, when will people get out of the box and move on. The past is the past. I felt that I was owed an apology; all I wanted was to eat a little breakfast. Then I realized that this was Black History month and after 50 years, I’m still being reminded of discrimination; of hate and fear that I have chosen to forget concerning my ancestor’s past life.

When will it end? So, I reminded myself once again, not in this world. There will forever be a hatred that is skin deep and branded in the minds and hearts of some.

I’m reminded that although racism still exists, there are those of the 95 percent in that restaurant that were concerned. I felt this because I could see it in their eyes that they had just witnessed a wrong being committed, an injustice.

As for the green-eyed hostess, I said to her “have a beautiful day.”

I knew that although I would file a complaint, it was not going to destroy my day. As I continued on down the highway, I saw another yellow sign, I pulled over, I was greeted and seated, and I was OK.

Yes, I was still a party of one, but it didn’t seem to make a difference in that town.

 

Beverly Gibson is a Ferriday resident.