THE WOKE WALK BACK

 The constant checking of my personal bias was becoming downright exhausting. I was seriously considering burning all my Harley Davidson T-shirts, they simply weren't meeting the moment. The vast collection I had amassed since I was a pre-teen had become an identifier of a small bigoted mind, a foul mouthed blow hard, those black HD tees - were pretty much akin to donning a red baseball cap. A few months after the election - a short, squirrelly man wearing white sneakers two sizes too big, limped across the street, shouting after me, "why you like Trump so much???" I was like, WTF in my head, he just pointed at the tee, I said, "ohhhh" 'n' set him straight. We both had a laugh and mentally high-five-ed over our mutual Trump Hate. A couple years later, now that things in the world, Brooklyn, had accelerant all over it, the orange and black T's weren't how I wanted to represent. But today, the clean t-shirt I found had Harley wings front n back. Agonizing between that and a crisp white Lacoste polo - I went with the more flattering of the two, opting for Bully-Chic vs Clam Bake Glam and headed out to the ATM. There were two machines, I took the open one, looked next to me and said, "hey, how you doin today," it was an NYPD officer. I forgot for a moment The Black Lives Matter movement, all the footage I had seen, how the NYPD Union endorsed Trump and wondered if my pleasantry was warranted. "But she's black, and a female," my brain said as I mentally patted myself on the back. She said in a serious tone, "you be careful out there," as she left. I was pretty sure she wasn't talking about the covid, but referring to the multiple shootings that had been going down around Brooklyn in the last few weeks. I told her to be careful, too and pondered what her experience must be like; being black, female, and a cop. And not necessarily in that order ZING, I surmised, patting myself on the back for my deeper dive. Maybe she liked my HD T-shirt, as the deconstructing of the moment continued, there was so much work to do. But the fact was, people had mistaken me for an off-duty cop on several occasions because of it. I walked into a bodega one night near Coney Island and heard two men speaking to each other excitedly in Spanish, "blah, blah, blah, ICE!! ICE!!" The guy behind the counter took one look at me and reassured them, "No ICE." But as they left they gave me the stink eye just for good measure. And now I was headed downtown. I was questioning my demeanor, my walk, my posture as well. Were my steps like some weird singular formation? My posture too militaristic? I tried to slump a bit, to look less aggressive but I caught my reflection in the mirror and saw an old, tired Jewish lady, and quickly corrected myself. Shoulders back, I headed into an Old Navy to swap out my HD Tee's with some non-redneck, two-for-12 specials. A security guard stood watch as I perused, I took notice and jested, "you think you can outrun me?" He looked me up and down and said, "I dunno, you look like you're in pretty good shape." I was flattered - the shoulders-back posture was already paying off. I was on a sassy roll and smiled, "come on, I think it's safe to say you've got the advantage..." But I was like, "DOH!!" in my head and it was very safe to say I had just said something under bias. Had I offended him with my implication of his athletic superiority based on his blackness and unusually long legs? GAH! I paid at the register and threw him a peace sign on the way out, wondering to myself, what does that even MEAN anymore. "Bye, Honey!" he shouted after me, I was so relieved that we were still friends that the possibly sexist/overly familiar term of endearment - failed to trigger the alarms in my head. Heading on home I passed an NYPD cruiser, two white male officers popped out with no place in particular to go. The young one's cute, I noticed, the other one's kinda looking like Twitchy Trigger Finger Poster Child, my thoughts went unchecked. The young one half checked me out, but both officers ultimately ignored me. They're on the job, I justified, because I was butt hurt the young one passed on saying "hi". But a thirty-something black man wearing Bermuda shorts with tiny embroidered lobsters on 'em approached the corner. The cops lit up, "hey, how ya doin!" but lobster pants ignored the cop's public service greeting. I kinda stood to the side for a while and noticed the PD officers said,"hey, how you doin" to every young black man who walked by. It's profiling, but is it profiling for good? I had the immediate realization I was in wayy over my head - best to shut down my stupid white girl thoughts, I was clearly in the midst of some twisted half-Karen moment. I was exhausted, my bias headspace was spent. Just then I saw a nice young man on a sherbet colored Vespa, I did a double take because it's not every day you see a black dude on a peach colored 150cc scooter with matching topcase. He shouted after me, "HEY! HEY!!" he was stopped at the light as I was crossing the street. I walked over to him and said, "hey, what's up." He was gleefully pointing at the Harley Davidson logo postered on my chest, "ya ride? that's super cool, Lady!" giving me the thumbs up. I gave him the affirmative biker nod as bikers tend to do - we bobble-headed together in silence until the light told him to go. On the way home I thought to myself, I could write a story about all this, but I knew it would end up being all kinds of wrong. A total minefield, I'd be wrong out of the gate, are you ready to piss off your friends? But in a moment of divine intervention a voice said "fuck it!" so I spent the next ten blocks second guessing myself, wondering where the hell I would even begin.