For the many Dopers who do not know, on the weekends I set up a vending table where I give away my artwork. I give it away because I enjoy the act of giving (I am so not altruistic), and it frees me to create without worrying about clutter. I am licensed and insured and all that, and even pay taxes on the little money I receive. I set up my table after I go to yoga class, in a location when the street crowd is busy and receptive to weirdness.
The crowd is pretty diverse. Mostly middle-class white folk, visiting from outside of the city. I overhear conversations, so I can tell who’s local and who’s visiting based on the things they say. Most people pass by my table without even noticing it, but occasionally it pops up in a pedestrian’s field of vision and they stop. They read the little sign I have, saying that everything is free, they exclaim “NO FUCKING WAY!”, then either take something and leave a donation or nudge the person they are with to take something, and then both run away gleefully. Usually most people who stop end up taking something. I don’t really interact with them because I position myself far away. I have found that I get better “business” when I’m not sitting right next to the table. It makes the whole thing seem more whimsical when I’m not there and people are less inhibited.
So today I set up. It’s a beautiful day here, so I knew the crowd was going to be thick. And I was proud of every one of my creations and anticipated that I wouldn’t leave empty-handed.
About 30-40 minutes after having set up, engrossed in my Kindle, I looked over and noticed this family sitting down on the raised curb right next to my table. A black family. A whole heap of folks. A couple of little kids, a couple of teenagers, and a woman who looked like she could be everything from their mother to a babysitter to an older sister. And they were right next to my table.
I instantly got irritated. Why were they sitting there? Why not move just a few feet away, so that they weren’t blocking access to my stuff? They had the whole length of the block, and yet they’d chosen my area to have their little picnic. Move, dammit.
But then I checked myself. Why was I getting irritated? It’s not like they were going to be there forever. It was clear they were just eating lunch or whatever. Besides, anyone who wanted to visit my table could still get to it. They just had to avoid other people’s feet on the way there.
But I was still not amused. I wasn’t bothered enough to feel compelled to ask to them to move (it’s a public sidewalk, after all). But I was irritated enough to keep glancing over at them from my Kindle, wondering when they were going to leave.
A little thought came to me as I searched myself for the source of my irritation. I realized that there was some racism driving my reaction. I was worried that the Black Family Reunion was scaring off people. Because I kept noticing that no one was even glancing at my table with them sitting there. The family wasn’t doing a damn thing but eating, mind you. But there was this nagging feeling that nonetheless, they were scaring away the business. Which includes people looking for freebies. I was scared of chasing away cheapskates!
So I dug deeper, examining this awful realization. Would I have this same feeling if they were a white family? No, I wouldn’t. White folks have plopped themselves next to my table too, and while I didn’t really like it, I don’t think I’d ever felt irritated. In fact, I may have felt that their presence was good because it would attract customers by magnifying the “scene”.
I wondered if my fear was reality-based rather than stemming from my own bias. Are there some white people who don’t like black people? Yes. Do these people only visit “fancy” places in the city–like the street where I had my table set up–to ensure themselves of a black people-free existence? Sure. So is it irrational to think a crowd of black people could scare off customers? No. It’s perfectly rational.
But why would I want those people to be my customers!?? Especially since I’m not trying to make money. Why would I want to give gifts to people who don’t like people who look like me? So I can’t blame other people’s racism for my own reactions. I have to own up to generating them all by myself.
This was the conversation I had with myself just a few minutes ago. The family eventually did leave, people did come back, and I did get to go home empty-handed, just as I had wanted. And now I have something else about myself that I need to work on. Like, confronting the fear that my own racial appearance is what keeps me from sitting next to my artwork.
I’m wishing I had gone up to the family and welcomed them to take whatever they wanted. That would have been the nice thing to do instead of seething.
Just wanted to share a mindless, pointless, senseless story with ya’ll.