The City Sometimes Surprises
The city has a life and rhythm of its own nature. It churns, revs, bucks, and grinds at irregular intervals. You try to get a hang of the flow and just roll...
And sometimes, first thing in the morning, the city surprises me .
Going to work a little while back, I parked on K Street. Up bright and early were a quartet of dudes, dudes the news stereotypes into obsessively plotting criminals, dudes who are white women’s personal signal to cross the street, and the cabbies’ green light to speed on to the next waiting fare. They were in lawn chairs outside of their apartment building, and traditional work did not seem to be on the day’s agenda.
Well, “good morning” I said in my head, and began to unload boxes, bags, a dolly, and a bunch of poster boards bound for my tiny office cube. It was bright outside so I pulled a straw hat onto my head, assured myself that I looked ridiculous, and began to push the dolly. A few steps into it, I felt my jacket brush my feet. Dropping anything during the course of this movement would simply be an inconvenience. As I turned to balance everything and execute the maneuver, I looked up to see one member of the quartet walking toward it and handing it to me. I was relieved that he didn’t use his polite gesture as a way to kick game. You know what guys say these days, “My game is no game.” Uh-huh.
That afternoon, I walked to my car in the same hot sun. thought of going to the movies later. Getting closer, I saw children home from school, adults home from work, and a ganja-tinged happy-hour in full swing. I felt nervous and a bit like an outsider. The morning quartet had repositioned beneath trees in the early evening shade. I wondered again, if, when I walked past them they would give me hassle of some sort. You know how folks get with Mary Jane, and DC men love to holla at a girl. I took a deep breath, held my chin up, and looked pleasant.
“How did the presentation go today?”
Not “’Ey!” or a mumbled “Light-skin…”, but asking ‘bout my day, remembered all the riff-raff I was lugging around this morning and deduced a presentation. How ‘bout that. What took me back wasn’t their putting it all together. It's not rocket science. But they took a minute to speak about it. I smiled.
“It went well.”
“And where’s your hat?” The sun was blazing right along with them. “In the office. I forgot it.”
Folks from the Midwest and the real South complain that Washingtonians are cold, and care little about the breathing being next to them on the corner. Not at this moment. Men who the public love to vilify reminded me that for a second, somebody cared..
The city moves to its own rhythm, revving, churning, bucking…
And sometimes, first thing in the morning, the city surprises me .
Going to work a little while back, I parked on K Street. Up bright and early were a quartet of dudes, dudes the news stereotypes into obsessively plotting criminals, dudes who are white women’s personal signal to cross the street, and the cabbies’ green light to speed on to the next waiting fare. They were in lawn chairs outside of their apartment building, and traditional work did not seem to be on the day’s agenda.
Well, “good morning” I said in my head, and began to unload boxes, bags, a dolly, and a bunch of poster boards bound for my tiny office cube. It was bright outside so I pulled a straw hat onto my head, assured myself that I looked ridiculous, and began to push the dolly. A few steps into it, I felt my jacket brush my feet. Dropping anything during the course of this movement would simply be an inconvenience. As I turned to balance everything and execute the maneuver, I looked up to see one member of the quartet walking toward it and handing it to me. I was relieved that he didn’t use his polite gesture as a way to kick game. You know what guys say these days, “My game is no game.” Uh-huh.
That afternoon, I walked to my car in the same hot sun. thought of going to the movies later. Getting closer, I saw children home from school, adults home from work, and a ganja-tinged happy-hour in full swing. I felt nervous and a bit like an outsider. The morning quartet had repositioned beneath trees in the early evening shade. I wondered again, if, when I walked past them they would give me hassle of some sort. You know how folks get with Mary Jane, and DC men love to holla at a girl. I took a deep breath, held my chin up, and looked pleasant.
“How did the presentation go today?”
Not “’Ey!” or a mumbled “Light-skin…”, but asking ‘bout my day, remembered all the riff-raff I was lugging around this morning and deduced a presentation. How ‘bout that. What took me back wasn’t their putting it all together. It's not rocket science. But they took a minute to speak about it. I smiled.
“It went well.”
“And where’s your hat?” The sun was blazing right along with them. “In the office. I forgot it.”
Folks from the Midwest and the real South complain that Washingtonians are cold, and care little about the breathing being next to them on the corner. Not at this moment. Men who the public love to vilify reminded me that for a second, somebody cared..
The city moves to its own rhythm, revving, churning, bucking…
posted by Rhonda Henderson at 12:13 PM
2 Comments:
While you say that the city sometimes surprises, it seems more that the people of the city were the surprise this day. Certainly some would say, "What is a city, if not the people?", but that misses something in my estimation. There is a crossroads of many different cultures and nationalities within the "walls" of Washington, D.C. and their interaction makes the city uniquely what it is. Perhaps you were shocked that this quartet of black men did not serenade you with the usual testosterone inspired fare, but I think that speaks more to your surprise at their muted reaction than it does to a greater comment on the city as a whole.
Certainly the black man, particularly the native Washingtonian, is struggling to find his place in an ever changing city where his demographic is no longer glorified as in years past, but many are embracing this influx of culture be it white, ethiopian or other. Certainly some will pine for and harken to days of old when the black culture was THE culture in D.C., but those times are becoming the past. Perhaps the stereotypes will similiarly be left behind, but I certainly doubt that.
I also doubt that the men cared in the manner in which you suggest, though in a literary sense it makes for good prose. I think your moment in the blazing sun spoke more of you than the city or the people who occupy it. And that is important in itself, that we rise above the popular vilifications and see human beings as individuals and give them the opportunity to impress, disappoint, earn or lose our trust and respect. Such efforts would serve all well; even the midwesterners and southerners who you callously proclaim care little about the breathing being next to them.
Excellent post...I believe that stereotypes are the tools of the lazy - people who would rather lump us all into a category base upon one commonality despite the thousands of things that are not commonly shared. Though there are many whose actions sow the seeds of this manner of cattle herding, there are more than enough in any given circumstance who defy the stereotype, therefore, nullifying it. "All X's are worthles O's...except that one and that one and this one over here..." The gentleman who commented about the presentation and the hat illustrates this. Again, excellent post!
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