It’s easy, especially in Manhattan, to be color-blind and, at the same time, viewed as a racist.
That was the lesson that I had driven home the other day at my local Whole Foods on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. As we all know, the divide between those who shop there and those who work there can be an unbridgeable chasm. So it seemed that day.
In line to pay for my few items, I realized that I had purchased the wrong pie (at half price) and needed to exchange it for another. The cashier at station No. 2, a pleasant tall, lanky black woman wearing eyeglasses, said she’d be happy to wait for me to collect the pie that I really wanted.
I hustled to the bakery section and high-tailed back to the cashiers, unwittingly depositing the pastry at station No. 4, where the black woman manning the cash register (or whatever they call that thing in this computer age) was stocky and covered with tattoos. Continue reading
I, on Cambodia 