Nicky stood and stared at the automatic ticket teller at the Civic Center B.A.R.T. station. He didn’t wear a suit very often and ties were constricting.
I wish I could go back in time and stop Beau Brummel from inventing this thing, Nicky thought as he tugged on his collar and unbuttoned his dress shirts top button.
A thirty-something five foot tall black man approached.
“Can I show you how to operate this complicated piece of equipment,” the man said.
Nicky experienced this type of help in the Paris Metro. A well dressed man provides unsolicited help and then demands compensation for his efforts. Nicky didn’t respond, he just looked the man’s way and blankly stared through him. He pulled a couple of dollars out of his pocket and fed them into the machine.
“I said do you need help?” the man asked tapping his foot expecting an answer.
Nicky cocked his head looking over the man’s shoulder and saw the stairs to the tracks. He turned to the machine and removed his ticket. Nicky tapped a finger on his lips looking straight at the man’s face but using no expression of surprise.
“What’s your problem?” the man said raising his voice.
I wonder how long I can ignore him, Nicky thought not even blinking when the man spoke.
“I said, what’s your problem?”
By now a crowd began to stare at the two men.
“Answer me,” the man screamed stomping his feet. “What am I invisible?”
Nicky focused on the stairs twenty feet away and walked past him being careful to not touch him.
“Do you hate black people? Sure you do, because IIIII haaaaate whiiiiiiiiiiite people tooooo.”
Nicky trotted down the stairs and through the turn style. He could see the man’s reflection in the glass. Now he was on his back kicking his feet in a tantrum that would make a two year old proud. Nicky smiled to a businessman arriving next to Nicky on the platform.
“Classic dude, I’m using that on him tomorrow,” the man said.
