Skip to main content"You don't want to take us just because we're black," says the teenager in the middle; his two compatriots nod assent. Goddamnit, they played the race card. It wasn't that at all. I hesitated to take them because they came from the opposite side of the street as the address on the order, which is a red flag. I didn't see them come out of a specific house—not good. They surrounded the cab all at once and started pulling on the doors in a way that was really disconcerting.
"Look, we have money." Indeed, all three of them have rolls that would choke a horse. Which is another red flag, in a way. That also makes me feel guilty, because this happens a lot. I don't think I've ever had a white passenger who felt compelled to show me his money up front without being asked—indeed, they usually take offense at being asked. That this is routine with my black passengers is rather indicative.
Anyway, now they're in the cab, and we head for Gresham. Once we get there, by unspoken accord they bolt. Normally I'd have locked the doors once rolling, but had been so discomfited by thinking about the race issue that I forgot. And you know, I sincerely doubt that any of the three teenagers would have knocked me down in the street and taken $25 from my wallet. But that is in effect exactly what they did, and I can't do a goddamn thing about it.
WWeek 2015