Urban Thought Collective

I recently completed a long overdue move. Since I was a teenager, I’ve lived on my own. I never minded that a bit. It was a sign of my independence and the key to my peace of mind. Last summer, I made the fiscal choice of moving in with my parents. It was a good decision that served me well. This summer, it was time to get back out into the world and rejoin the ranks of the high rent paying citizenry.

In the past, I have been fortunate that my living situations have not been traditionally apartment style. That is, no one above, below or even beside me. No overhearing arguments or peeking at the line of guests coming to the neighbors’ dinner party. Just me. Alone. I loved it.

With my new place, I love so many things about it. It is cute and quiet and my fellow tenants have all been peachy. It’s just that I have to get used to communal living once again. I have to adjust to the fact that my plumbing is linked with someone else’s. I have to trick myself into thinking I’m in New York on a quaint little corner, when I’m really sitting on a major street with the requisite traffic noises that come along with it. Needless to say, my adjustment period looks like it’s gonna take a while.

Insomnia is my new homie, and with every creak of the floorboard or sound of water running above, I feel like a member of that poor, huddled mass that came to this country from Ellis Island. I have to keep reminding myself to quit clicking my heels, cuz this is home. I’ll get used to it. Time is a wonderful thing.

I have moved to a city that is 85% Caucasian. I recently ventured into the local upscale supermarket. I figured it was time to dive right in and check out my neighbors while getting a fresh cut of salmon from the smiling butcher. Coming from an all black and brown community, the fact that I even have a local butcher was reason enough for me to rejoice. As I walked in, there were the obligatory black guys with blond girls, the mommies with their 3 kids in the basket, and the single surfer guy with no manners. I stayed calm. I can do this, I told myself. Yes, I can.

There is no politically correct way to say this. But, an endless sea of white faces can be startling. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a people person. I can chat it up with anyone about just about anything. Politics? Check. Entertainment? Got it. Sports? How ‘bout them Red Sox? But the finer points of tanning, sun burn and hair dying elude me. Small talk can be tough when the common ground is, well, almost nothing. Call me an uppity Negro, but I just don’t get down like that.

I was a bit perturbed by my shopping experience. No matter what aisle I went down, or how broad and welcoming my smile was, people just kept staring at me. I felt like the new Shamu exhibit at Sea World. For a split second I even entertained the thought that I was being Punk’d. As I hunted for bargains (Hummm, 5 dollar peanut butter, or 7?), I was met with strange looks, lowering eyes and awkward smirks. I was a big black fish in a white pond, and the water was mighty shallow.

I was ready to throw in the towel and give up on my friendly black-girl-here-to-do-you-no-harm act, when a woman in the check-out lane looked at me dead in the eye and said “I loooove your shirt!” It wasn’t until then that I realized that I had on the biggest, brightest, double sided Barack Obama t-shirt ever printed. Duh!!! I had just come back from an Obama voter registration rally, and totally forgot that I was wearing the uniform of Change. That explained the looks! Maybe white guilt overcame them and I was, in the words of Public Enemy, “Too Black, Too Strong.”

Or maybe they just wanted me to get the hell up outta “their” store. Who knows? But, that salmon was on point, so I’ll be back again. Cuz like Miss Celie said, “I may be poor, black, hell I may even be ugly, but dear God I’m here. I’m here!!”

Ellene Miles has worked as an entertainment publicist for more than 6 years. Her collections of rants are featured exclusively on UTC for the good of the people.