Posted by I was in Shepherds Bush Green the other day having lunch at the Walkabout Inn, very near the Post Office, so I decided to pop in to pick up some stamps.
The main queue was like a roadblock with people sending packages off to far away countries in time for the Christmas rush, but post office staff had quickly set-up a shorter makeshift line facing the main entrance just for stamps and small purchases. I’m waiting my turn at the back of this line when it occurred to me–I might have some stamps tucked away in my wallet.
I’m flicking through my wallet now when, out of the corner of my eye, I notice this well-dressed white guy bounding in through the main doors–and the next thing I know is that he’s lunging at me–snatching my wallet out of my hands. “What the f**k do you think you’re doing?” I’m screaming at him at the top of my voice, as everybody turned to gawp.
The idiot was standing there with my wallet in his hand, and this satisfied look on his face like he’d just corned a burglar, and was about to claim the reward. He must have noticed the venom in my eyes for some kind of sanity seemed to return to his mind. He placed his left hand into his inside jacket pocket, and pulled out a shiny black leather wallet, nothing like my own. “Oops!” he said, turning cherry red.
Oops? Oops – you know? Not even an apology. The man just handed me back my wallet and sheepishly walked out the shop. People have been killed for less! And I was about ready to commit bloodclaat murder, if it wasn’t that too many people would have been watching me. Nobody said a word.
Why do you suppose these things always happen to me? Could I be asking for it?
Related Reading:
- Hip-Hop Mozart
- Brothers on the Down Low
- Issues in Black Mental Health
- Slave Narratives: the Bedrock of Black Literature?
These Eyes by Alton Ellis