Being Denmark Vesey

EXT. Airport Arrivals Deck. Day. 3:48 PM

Traffic was a bitch getting to the airport. I've got the iPhone cradled between my ear and shoulder as I weave the whip between cars looking for a spot to stop. Aunt Connie is on the other line explaining that she is outside baggage claim #5. Damn. I'm at baggage claim #6. I can either exit the airport and immediately return ... or Aunt Connie can Walk This Way.

Boom! Just then the reverse lights come on one of those little Land Rover SUV's, and it begins the back and forth process of pulling out of a very tight space, leaving me just enough room to slip in head first. Cool. "Look here Aunt Connie, I'm stopping at baggage claim #6. If you can walk up a little bit, it will save us some time." Before she can answer, there is a tap on my driver side window. I look up to see a scowl faced black police officer on a bicycle. "Hold on Aunt Connie" I say into the phone. I put the cell down as I lower the window.

Before the window is half-way down I hear a gruff, impatient, fed up, tired: "What are you doing?!"

Uh. Oh. Already me and this muhfuggah have gotten off on the wrong foot. I don't like his tone. Who in the fuck does this pork eatin' geechy bastard think he's talking to, I ask myself. There's a pregnant pause as we just look at each other. He speaks again, this time his tone is even more harsh and frustrated "You can't park here."

Evenly, clearly and slowly I say "I'm not parked." Incredulously, I glance in my rear and side-view mirrors. My car is still half-way in the traffic lane. A little taken back by my tone and eye contact, the cop says "Well what are you doing?!"

Now, I really don't like this cat's tone. And he don't like me. Maybe because he's in a uniform and on a bike and I'm crisp and in a Benz. Maybe because he's full of processed food and his colon is festering a cancer while I'm a lean 185 pounds of organic vegetables. Whatever it is, we have the rapport of a lion and a hyena. He's got what looks like a Glock on his hip. I got a Baretta in the slot.

Just then the Land Rover completely vacates the spot. Now, it's apparent what I'm doing. It's apparent he's made a mistake. Instead of manin' up and moving on, this cat is trying to save face. I look him dead in the eye, and still don't respond. I simply take my foot off the brake and ease the car forward into the now vacant spot. He tippy-toes on his bicycle to stay even with my driver's window.

Without answering and without losing eye contact with the cop who is waiting for my answer, I pop the locks, open the door, get out the car, close the door and use my key to pop the trunk. Just then my beautiful aunt walks up to the car "Heyyyyyy Baby! Where my children at!? God it's hot out here! Be careful! My bag is heavy! You know them people charged me $45 talking about it's overweight!"

I smile at Connie and turn back to the cop. I say matter-of-factly, "I'm picking up my aunt."

He peddles off.

Is it Possible That What Went Down Between The Cambridge Cop and The "Half-White" Officially Approved Negro Representative Henry Gates ... Was a personal incident between two men, that really had no larger racial implications or Group Identity significance?

What went down between me and this cop was personal. Had he been white, Plantation Negros would assume it was an example of racism, not realizing they have transferred massive amounts of power and perceived entitlement to white men by eliminating the possibility that white men and black men can have personal clashes just as black men can with other black men, or white men can have with other white men.

Had I gotten hysterical, had my voice become high pitched, had I become upset, had I asked for his "badge number and name", had I said something like "This is because I'm a vegetarian in America!", my ass would have been locked up, and deservedly so. Bitchiness should never be tolerated in dudes.

Everything is not racial. Sometimes shit is just between men.