At one point during the show the characters burst into song declaring that "everyone's a little bit racist." The truth of these lyrics have helped us to recognize that each person is the summation of their experiences and that often racism is subtle and unrecognized by the perpetrators, but that we all have a collective responsibility to continue to grow and that comes from treating others how we want to be treated and not being afraid to listen to each other. Instead we find relief in humor and chuckle heartily when we recall one of the numbers in the Broadway musical Avenue Q.
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While we may be tempted to get up and scream when I am yet again automatically handed the check at the end of a meal, as my skin color must clearly imply that I am the paying member of our party, he would instantly be branded "angry black man" and we would only feed into the stupidity that is so pervasive. The first time I actually met someone from Jack’d, which is described as a gay men’s social network but is majorly used for what I would describe as ho shit, I thought it was going to end with me becoming the inspiration for a future episode of Law & Order: SVU. Over the years, the startling consistency of the manner in which I am addressed while he is ignored has become a quasi joke between us. I thought it was going to end with me becoming the inspiration for a future episode of Law & Order: SVU. After all, the questions asked and the specials listed were strictly addressed to me while he was not even acknowledged. I was jarred as I quickly learned that my point of view was truly one-sided, as what I was saw as polite service, he experienced as a fundamental and continual disrespect. Unsure what "it" was, he began to explain that the wait staff was completely ignoring his existence, just like in every other restaurant we had gone to before. My face fell as he sadly declared that "it" was happening again. I was dumbfounded and asked what was wrong. When I looked up from the menu smiling I saw that my boyfriend was totally ticked. After listing the specials and pointing out some exceptional bottles of wine, she stepped away to give us a minute to choose.
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As we entered, the hostess, who was white, asked how many people were in our party, to which I replied, and proceeded to sit us at a table by the window where the waitress, who happened to be white, promptly handed me our menus and asked if we wanted a drink. One evening not so long into our courtship, my fiancé and I went to a hipster restaurant located in a progressive Brooklyn neighborhood for dinner.