The Attempted Day Off

Friday was a whirlwind of actions, thoughts, and emotions. I ventured past where Denmark Vesey was hung, then I prayed as we saw the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal church where Dylan Roof murdered nine parishioners. I saw the dichotomy of Charleston, old versus new, traditional versus modern, etc.

    After the aforementioned trips to Ft. Sumter and the Old Slave Mart, I was weary of, well, of being Black. It might sound crazy, but Friday was emotional, full of frustrating thoughts and emotions. When I went to sleep Friday night, I was unsure as to how I would spend Saturday.

     I'd been scheduled to visit Boone Hall, a plantation not too far from my hotel. I woke on Saturday morning thinking that tour would be too much on top of Friday. I decided I would just chill, stay local, and get some writing done. I called myself taking a day off from being Black.

     I sipped whiskey and beer, napped, finished writing a short story, wrote a couple of poems, and completed a couple of chapters in my current novel. I felt accomplished, productive, and hungry. Lol.

     I asked the concierge, Greg (young White guy)

, about a nearby restaurant called Gilligan's. He told me he'd heard mixed reviews, and I assured him I'd let him know how it turned out. Gilligan's was a block from the hotel, within easy walking distance.

     I was greeted when I walked in, led to a table, and as I waited for my server to bring a beer, I looked around the restaurant. There were maybe twenty-five people in the dining room, but the presence of those people guaranteed that the food would be delicious.

    I had she-crab soup, hushpuppies, and a double cheeseburger with fries. My food was excellent, as was the service. Two thumbs up. When I went back to my hotel, I told Greg the food was excellent, but I knew it would be because of the customers. When he asked me how I knew, I replied "Because all of the patrons were Black."

     Greg's expression was one of confusion, and before I could explain, a Black guy of about thirty approached. On a whim, I asked a question which might help with Greg's befuddlement.

     "Excuse me bro, but if you walked into a restaurant and all of the customers are Black, what does that make you think?" I asked.

     "That the food must be delicious," he responded with a smile. We gave each other a pound (fist bump to the cubistic), and I went back to my room, chuckling at the conversation. 

      As I entered my room, it dawned on me that even on my day off from being Black, there are certain truths I can't escape; Black folks don't get a day off from being Black in America. It is what it is. 😁