Racism at 5:40 pm

When you open your eyes to it, intolerance is everywhere, even at the pharmacy

Photo credit: IChemE Blog

Prejudice is always there. When we check our assumptions it becomes crystal clear.

“I have a 5:40”, the woman said.

Moments ago, she had walked up to the pharmacy counter to announce her arrival. I stood off to the side. Another woman and a teenage girl, who I would soon learn was her daughter, stood nearby.

When the pharmacist made a move to help the woman with the 5:40 pm appointment, the mother said emphatically, “My daughter has an appointment, too.”

The pharmacist, realizing the potential for an argument, quickly said, “There’s nothing to worry about. Everyone will get vaccinated.”

If only empathy could be prescribed

His diplomacy didn’t matter. The mother insistent her daughter go first because after all, they were there first.

The mother had failed to read the play, a play that seemed obvious to me: the other woman, fearing she was late and would miss her appointment, rushed in and went straight to the desk to check-in. None of that mattered.

There was no empathy. No benefit of the doubt given.

It also didn’t matter that we were the only ones there or that the woman apologized.

I thought to myself, “What does it matter who goes first? It’s not like there’s a shortage of vaccines.”

To paint a bigger picture, there wasn’t a cue of people waiting. It was just me, the mother-daughter pair, and the woman. I was there picking up a prescription, for god's sake. I didn’t even count towards the hypothetical ‘last-two-vaccines-on-Earth-fight-to-the-death’ scenario that was playing out.

The pharmacist’s continued attempts to douse the flames were futile. A one-sided clash ensured. The mother continued her insistent aggressive stance that her daughter deserved to go first.

The lone woman graciously stepped aside and sat down in a chair to wait. Turns out, the daughter did have the earlier appointment. But what did it matter? It didn’t, not one iota.

You are here

The daughter walked into the small treatment room with the pharmacist while her mother waited by the door. That should have been the end of it. Instead, the mother turned to the woman sitting in the chair and said,

“See? This is how we do things …” Her voice trailed off.

Here. This is how we do things here.

My instinct was to assume the mother was implying we don’t butt in line. We wait our turn. It quickly dawned on me that that wasn’t what she was getting at.

Here. This is how we do things here. In Canada.

You see, the mother and daughter were white. The lone woman was black.

Check your racial assumptions

I’ve often asked myself, “How can I fight racism when I rarely encounter it?”

That afternoon, I encountered it. It was like a veil was lifted from over my eyes. “So that’s racism”, I thought. “Here’s a real-life example of it.”

I couldn’t help but dissect my initial reaction to label the mother as merely a rude, entitled person. It took an extra second to realize she was a bigot.

Phone A Friend

As the teenager got her vaccine and the black woman waited, I was stricken with urgency. What do I do? I didn’t know what to do. So I did what any panicked, angered person would do: I phoned a friend. A white cis older male friend, no doubt. That’s how much I trusted this person’s opinion.

The mother and daughter left the pharmacy area and walked in the opposite direction. There would be no easy chance to confront them. No fly-by chance for comment. I didn’t go after them. Instead, and while putting my phone-a-friend on hold, I approached the black woman as she was leaving her appointment and said, “I saw everything that happened and I’m sorry.”

She smiled and thanked me, said she appreciated it. She mentioned she does her best to let it roll off her. I told her I wanted to punch that white woman in the face. Her smile broadened.

We parted ways. Later, as I left the store I caught the black woman’s gaze as she stood at the checkout line. We smiled at one another again and waved goodbye, me raising the chocolate bar I was holding and her raising her bananas. A single chocolate bar was all I ended up leaving with that day. My prescription hadn’t been ready after all.

Turn the other cheek

I wondered how many times that black woman has had to let things roll off her. A hell of a lot more than me, that’s for sure.

I wondered how many times had I failed to read the play in the past? My tendency to give others the benefit of the doubt has trumped my ability to see the true meaning behind people’s comments.

I can say when I’ve heard people make racists comments in the past, they have stuck with me. Like the time a neighbor of a friend spoke poorly of Indigenous Canadians.

Subtle racism

Blatant racism sticks with you. Subtle racism also stays with you precisely because it isn’t obvious. The time it takes for a white person to absorb it lends to its potency. There’s the gradual recognition of it, then the shock, then the disappointment, then the rage.

As a white person, we can check our assumptions about others. We can share examples of racism we’ve witnessed to help others recognize it. And when in doubt, when we don’t know what to do, we can phone a friend. Better yet, we can say we’re sorry.