Vignette of a white lady in a grocery store
When a well-meaning sci-fi reference makes things much worse
On Tuesday, I was a threatening white lady.
It was a few days too late for Halloween, and it was entirely real for the cashier who I inadvertently traumatized.
The situation was tenuous to start. My day had already gone a bit odd, with lunch at a restaurant where folks weren't masking the way I prefer, and a time zone mix-up to talk with a friend who, like so many of us, is having a hard time.
So by the time I got to the cash register at the local grocery store, I was a little out of sorts. But this was a place that I liked, with staff whose values overlap with mine. Advice I've read about forming community recommends becoming a regular at a few places, and this store was on my list of favorites. I've even successfully had an ongoing conversation with one staffer about foraging, learning about his interest in wild mushrooms and sharing my adventures in nurturing pawpaws in the woods at my parents' house.
That day's cashier was someone I don't remember encountering before. As she rung up my mint Newman O's and Braeburn apples, I noticed a small bit of text on her mask: "100% Human." I wasn't sure what it referenced, but seeing a woman of color wearing that slogan made me think of one of the ways systemic racism is sometimes described: that those of us who uphold white supremacy don't even recognize the basic humanity of people of color. It felt like an entry to talking about a value we shared, but I was at least aware enough that going straight for "Yeah, white supremacy is trash" with a stranger might be too aggressive.
I started cautious. "I like your mask," I said, hoping she would take it from there.
But she didn’t take the bid, saying, "Thanks," and looking down as she scanned bar codes.
Well-rested Veronica knows I should have followed the cashier's lead. I should have backed off.
But I was not well rested, and I longed for connection. And, although I wasn't socially aware enough to back off, I was socially aware enough to realize I had made her uncomfortable. I didn't want to make her uncomfortable! I was trying for the opposite. So, I panicked and attempted to make a joke to show that my complement was sincere.
"It's really reassuring, you know. I mean, you could be an android under there, and your mask could be hiding it. But with that text there, I know you aren't."
For you, dear reader, to understand this terrible attempt at a save, you need to know that I've been rereading The Murderbot Diaries. Written from the perspective of a rogue cyborg in an interstellar dystopian future, this series of novellas is the ultimate escape for me. Murderbot is sarcastic and self deprecating and amazing at their job protecting research teams, and, in spite of themself, incredibly caring and human.
A primary plot line in the book is how Murderbot has to hide their cyborg identity from the humans around them, because otherwise most humans in the books' universe will assume that they're, well, a murderbot. They use extensive measures to hide this identity, including shortening their legs and arms by a couple centimeters (surgery and recovery are very powerful in this universe), growing fine hair on their arms and legs (ew, gross, thinks Murderbot), and writing code to help them move with more like how humans do. As they go about their work saving their human friends, Murderbot has to take measures like these because easier measures for feeling safe, like covering up their clearly cyborg appearance with a headscarf or a hoodie, would draw the attention of the people hunting them down.
Yeah. If these measures of disguise remind you of the code switching that so many people of color have to go through to succeed in our world, well, you'll get why my brain attempted to reference it to save my conversation with the cashier.
Unfortunately, I failed at conveying this connection, and she had no way to divine it. Indeed, my wacky Murderbot reference was what pushed me from being an awkward person to being a threatening person.
Drawing back, she said, "Well, I'm not going to take it off to show you."
Oh no. This, finally, was when my brain realized I'd screwed up. By then one of the other lovely staffers had noticed I was making her coworker uncomfortable, and had taken the bystander intervention tactic of coming over to stand next to her.
I had not only failed to make a connection with a new person; I had made her feel unsafe.
Wishing I could apologize, but realizing that the situation was too far out of my control for my awkward brain, I aborted the effort as gracefully as I could manage. I piled my paid-for groceries in my bag, and left with a meager, "Hope you have a nice day."
Walking to my car, I went over the moments-long encounter, tallying what I had tried and where it had gone wrong. Later that day, I decided to look up the mask online, and found that it was a product line by Everlane that donates 10% of its profits to the ACLU.
Part of me wanted to go back to the store and apologize as soon as possible. Could I write a note? Make a comic showing what I had meant to say? Include a four-part apology in either option, or maybe just deliver it verbally? No. I knew, from her coworker's actions, that she had a support network that would help her feel safe again. And I also knew that I was probably, ultimately, just a blip in the nonstop assault of this world on people of color like her. Doing something to apologize would just remind her of a trauma that I can only assume she'd rather forget. Apologizing would be about me, not her.
It doesn't matter that I've loved books by Toni Morrison and Octavia Butler, or that we've had a Black Lives Matter sign in our yard for years, or that I seek out Black-owned businesses and have already made donations to the ACLU. In that moment, in that grocery store, I was a threatening white lady.
The important thing is that I know I've done wrong, and I'll keep trying to do better. Just as it takes time and practice and dedication to topple harmful systems, it takes time and practice and dedication to act like the individual I want to be.
Mentioned in this issue: The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells (a series which starts with All Systems Red); “code switching,” a linguistic term, which is explained here by NPR Code Switch journalist Gene Demby; author Toni Morrison (The Bluest Eye is incredible); author Octavia Butler (Kindred is fantastic); and the ACLU, which protects the rights of Americans through the court system and more.