A few weeks ago, Lisa and I were looking for something to do and decided to go to a local improv spot and see the show. We invited my mom and a buddy of mine and drove about an hour to the theatre. We were planning to eat on the way and, as usual, I planned badly and we had only about 35 minutes to eat before the show started.
I stopped at the theatre to pick up the tickets and asked if there was a place nearby we could get a quick bite. The woman recommended a restaurant a few blocks away. It was on Woodward Avenue, a very busy street that runs through Detroit and then north. I went around the block once and there was no parking, so I came back around an pulled over on Woodward to let everyone else out while I drove to a lot nearby.
It was a bad move. There was a police car right behind me. He flashed lights, I pulled around the corner and got out my license and registration. Was I nervous? Not really. I knew that the worst that would happen was I’d get a ticket, pay a fine, and maybe have a few more points on my driving record. Phew!
The officer and I had a short conversation, I acknowledged that what I didn’t wasn’t very smart of safe and he let me off.
How nice, right? But, as I put my papers away, parked, and walked to the restaurant, though, a few other things occurred to me. That my mom and my daughter didn’t have to wonder whether or not I would make it to the restaurant, and that I didn’t have to worry about something physical happening to me, or that my first thought wasn’t “oh man, again?”
It’s a minor thing but I think it’s a good story to share with anyone who has no clue about white privilege.