Stereotyping Of A Different Kind

A Story by Willys Watson

Doc and a tall, thin, bespeckled black man, perhaps in his early 40s, stepped up to the Wells Fargo ATM machine at the same time in front of the Ralph’s in Encino, an up-scale neighborhood in the LA valley. Both hesitated while waiting for the other to use the machine.

"Go ahead. You guys need all the sympathy you can get," Doc replied, motioning for the younger man to go first.

You guys? Man, I’ve lived here for two years and didn’t think your type lived anywhere around here," he responded.

"My type?" Doc wondered.

"The veiled profiling remark, the pity poor us reference and that Aikman jersey you’re wearing. Yeah, your type."

"Ah, man, don’t misconstrue because Aikman's a Republican. I’m not," Doc countered while laughing and looking down at the stained, paint splattered jersey he was wearing. "I bought this worn out thing at Goodwill to use for a work shirt. My Emmitt Smith jersey I keep clean and only wear when not working.

"Valid excuse, but what about the ‘you guys’ remark?"

"I was talking about you Knicks fans," Doc explained.

"Needing sympathy? Indeed we do," the black man laughed as he looked down at his own jersey and understood what Doc had meant. "Because our glory days were so long ago."

"So is our Boys, it seems. But it could be worse. At least we aren’t ‘Who Dey’ fans or Brown Bag Browns fans."

"Do you jockheads mind?," came the voice of a young, impatient, fashionably dressed woman behind them who must of tired of their conversation as she wedged herself between them to use the ATM first. "Some of us have better things to do."

Doc and the black man exchanged glances, smirking, as they watched her withdraw money, then head into the store.

"Jockheads?" Doc exclaimed after she was out of sight. "Was that premature profiling?"

"I don’t know about what you do, my friend, but I teach over at Pierce and that was indeed premature profiling,’ the black man stated with what seemed like a more ironic view of perceived stereotyping than boastfulness to Doc.

"I’m just a wannabe writer and artist who pays his bills as an electrician, but still I perceived it to mean I was dissed, too," Doc professed with a chuckle.

"A writer who talks like a writer. There are lot of you wannabe writers and out here, aren’t there?"

"Oh, yeah, and I’m willing to bet most of them, as I do, identify with loyal, long-suffering fans, at least in a metaphorical way," Doc added. "And I love them all, even you Knicks fans, except when you guys stole Tyson away from us."

"Stole? You can blame your man Cuban for not matching our offer," he replied with a humorous jab.

"True, that. But at least he admitted it was a mistake," Doc confessed as he watched the younger man step back and motion for him to go first. Doc responding by suggesting to him, "No, no. You go ahead. I’m in no hurry."

No, you go first because us jockheads have nothing better to do," he replied as he motioned to Doc. "Besides, it’s that age before beauty thing with me."

"Now that is stereotyping!" was Doc’s retort as he stepped up the ATM machine.

After Doc finished using the machine and turned towards the store’s door the black man patted him on the shoulder and Doc smiled back at him.