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Having her hair done at a West Hempstead,
NY, beauty parlor,
a woman told a cautionary tale
about racial prejudice.
The story deserves a wider audience.
On a recent weekend in Atlantic
City, the woman related, she won a bucketful of quarters at a
slot machine. She took a break
from the slots for dinner with her husband in the hotel dining
room. But first she wanted to stash
the quarters in her room. "I'll be right back and we'll go to
eat", she told her husband and
she carried the coin-laden bucket to the elevator.
As she was about to walk into the
elevator she noticed two men already aboard. Both were black.
One of them was big... Very big...
An intimidating figure. The woman froze. Her first
thought was: These two are
going to rob me. Her next thought was: Don't be a bigot, they
look like perfectly nice gentlemen,
even if one of them is awfully black.
But racial stereotypes are powerful,
and fear immobilized her. She stood and stared at the two
men. She felt anxious, flustered,
and ashamed. She hoped they didn't read her mind but knew they
surely did; her hesitation about
joining them on the elevator was all too obvious. Her face burned.
She couldn't just stand there,
so with a mighty effort of will she picked up one foot and
stepped forward and followed with
the other foot and was on the elevator. Avoiding eye contact,
she turned around stiffly and faced
the elevator doors as they closed. A second passed, and then
another second, and then another.
The elevator didn't move. Panic consumed her. My God, she
thought, I'm trapped and about
to be robbed! Her heart plummeted. Perspiration poured from
every pore.
Then one of the men said, "Hit the
floor." Instinct told her: Do what they tell you. The bucket of
quarters flew upwards as she threw
out her arms and collapsed on the elevator carpet. A shower of
coins rained down on her.
Take my money and spare me, she prayed. More seconds passed. She
heard one of the men say politely,
"Ma'am, if you'll just tell us what floor you're going to, we'll
push the button." The one
who said it had a little trouble getting the words out. He was trying
mightily
to hold in a belly laugh.
She lifted her head and looked up
at the two men. They reached down to help her up. Confused, she
struggled to her feet. "When
I told my man here to hit the floor," said one of the men (the average
sized one), "I meant that he should
hit the elevator button for our floor. I didn't mean for you to
hit the floor, ma'am." He
spoke genially. He bit his lip. It was obvious he was having
a hard time
not laughing.
She thought: My God, what a spectacle
I've made of myself. She was too humiliated to speak. She
wanted to blurt out an apology,
but words failed her. How do you apologize to two perfectly respectable
gentlemen for behaving as though
they were robbing you? She didn't know. The 3 of them gathered up
the strewn quarters and refilled
her bucket. When the elevator arrived at her floor they insisted on walking
her to her room. She seemed a little
unsteady on her feet, and they were afraid she might not make it down
the corridor. At her door they
bid her a good evening. As she slipped into her room she could hear
them
laughing while they walked back
to the elevator. The woman brushed herself off. She pulled herself
together
and went downstairs for dinner
with her husband.
The next morning flowers were delivered
to her room ~ a dozen roses. Attached to EACH rose was a crisp
one hundred dollar bill.
The card said: "Thanks for the best laugh we've had in years."
It was signed,
Eddy Murphy
Michael Jordan