I Was Just Racially Profiled…As a White Dude

I woke up Saturday morning with a hangover; classic. Despite overwhelming odds, I managed to make it to the mall. Usually large groups of people are what I want to avoid at that level of personal hell, but I needed a new shirt for an upcoming engagement party. There would be beautiful women there and I wanted to look my best while planting seeds so come the day of the wedding I could reap in the harvest. Well that and Sarku Japan is my fucking jam.

Being the basic bro creature of habit that I am, I found myself in J Crew perusing the new stock of fresh Irish Cotton-Linen slim cut button downs. As I stood in deep deliberation pondering if I am at the point in my life in which I am ready to pull off floral prints, I was tapped on the shoulder. I turned around I was met with a young Black man wearing a sharp herringbone sport coat.

The guy politely asked if I carried any of the particular shirt he was holding in a slimmer cut and if so, which size should he wear seeing as he was a Medium in the standard cut Oxford shirts, but he was concerned that that Medium might be too tight with a slimmer cut.

What followed was a deafening silence in which I stared at him wide eyed for what seemed like eons while trying to process the situation with my chemically broken brain. Eventually, the words “I don’t uhhh work here” stumbled out of my mouth followed by a toxic plume of morning breath carrying hints of menthol cigarettes and stale beer.

Before we go any further there are a couple things to note:

I wasn’t dressed in a manner fitting of a J Crew employee. They tend to look dapper in the latest outfits straight from new seasonal line. Unless J Crew is opening a new fashion line of salsa stained Chinos and beat up running sneakers for that “hungover but trying my best” look, I didn’t really fit the part.

It also should be mentioned that every employee in the store was equipped with radio headset and constantly communicating like some sort of a fashion Seal Team Six. Instead of spreading freedom at the cost of terrorist lives, they were spreading fashionable clothing at a cost that’s debatably overpriced. You could hear these radios going off across the store, calling in backup supplies of pressed Chinos or inquiring about the latest intel on high value Rompers.

The young Black man apologized, turned around and went to find help with his sizing dilemma. After making my purchase, I shrugged off the forced social interaction, got my Double Chicken Teriyaki Combo with extra sauce, and was on my way. On the drive home the question dawned on me: “Was I just racially profiled?”

Now as a White American Upper Middle Class Male, my socio-economic group is usually on the other end of the stick in these matters, so this was new territory for me. My initial reaction was uncontrollable laughter at how ridiculous this all was. I then quickly put together a social justice committee group-chat of a Feminist, a White guy, and a Black guy, and the consensus was mutual: I had just been targeted based on my race.

Then I started to really delve deep into the matter. By acknowledging the fact that I was profiled as a J Crew employee because I am White, does that mean that I think that J Crew is a White person store and that only White people should work or shop at J Crews and therefore I am the racist here?

All the political correctness and social justice going around has got me walking on eggshells these day. There are so many sensitive people out there drawing lines in the sand that you have to really watch yourself so as to not offend anyone by accident. Personally, I think no one is perfect and everyone holds some shitty opinions about other social groups, but the question still stands: Am I racist or a victim of racism? I’m still not sure, but at least I got a good laugh out of it and another story ripe for the bar.