You can't talk to me like that just because I am white

I feel dirty.

Today, this young woman comes in to the children's book department asking for stickers. Now, we don't sell little sheets or rolls of stickers, just sticker books and a couple of gift sets. So, I hand her a Dr. Seuss sticker set. It's clear by facial reaction that it is not what she is expecting or searching for, but she seems interested by it.

I dote at an arm's length away, pointing out that it has a lot of stickers for the price, but I realize that it is not necessarily what she was looking for.

She gets ready to speak, and I smile, expecting a polite explanation of why she won't be purchasing the stickers that day.

Instead: "Well, I am a nursing student and I'm conducting health screenings on kids ages two through seven years old in a predominantly African-American school and... I mean, are they going to know who Dr. Seuss is?"

what? huh? My brain goes blank. Up until the dot dot dot, I was expecting an objection to the price, quantity, small size of the actual stickers. And then -- wham -- expectation that I am just as racist as you. Because I am white like you. Because I am dressed like you.

Now looking back on it, I feel so dirty and used to be dragged into her racism just because of our similar skin color. Would you really ask that to a black person, nursing student?

And now, looking back on it, I feel ashamed because I didn't see something clever, honest, boldly antiracist back to that.

No, I stare at her, recover from blank brain, and as passive aggressive as I can get is to say, "well, you said the kids go to school, right? I would assume that you're fine."

And she just goes right on telling her whole charitable nursing student tale... oh, it's a Montessori school, oh, it is right by your bookstore...blah, blah, bitchity blah.

And THEN she tells me she doesn't think the stickers are right. And where can she get stickers around here? And look at me, nonconfrontational is that I am, giving her ADVICE to buy them online at a teacher store because that's where they sell big quantities. And, then, she leaves, skipping off to nursing class, la la la, in her little school sweatshirt.

I can only imagine her today fawning over cute black toddlers, sneaking a touch of their exotic kinky hair as she helps them adjust the earphones during the hearing test. Maybe she is passing out some Fat Albert or Little Bill stickers, all "you know who that is, don't you, sweetie?" while grinning down at their poor, underprivileged faces.

And you know what, I am no better for not calling her on that shit. Because by not speaking up, even in the strange power arrangement of customer and employee, I'm coasting by...clinging to my white privilege.

Here's my vow to speak up when there is a next time.