On the bus going home. Rainy day. Somewhat crowded. I am seated up front in the section that is normally reserved for handicapped and elder people — normally it’s fine to sit in those seats less there is an elder.
At the corner of my eye, 2 white ladies seated, talking, in a sea of Los Angeles brown folks headed to the San Fernando Valley. Nothing too special to look at really.
Apparently, they are discussing at what stop they need to get off at.
One of the ladies walks up so she can ask the bus driver.
As she makes her way up, the bus jerks turbulently, and the lady falls backward into my gloved hands and lap, with the bus crowd slightly aghast.
She gets back up without even looking my way.
I don’t know. If I was a tall, handsome white guy like like James Franco or if I was the suited white dude with a brief case, I wonder if she would have actually acknowledged me. I generally don’t mind being an amorphous brown person, especially on a public space like the bus, but its these moments that make me wonder if I am even eligible for common courtesy by the hegemonics that be.