Hello friends,
If there’s one experience that makes me aware of my otherness in a global minority country, it’s shopping. For most global minority people it’s a nice fun activity, right? That’s not always the case if you’re Black.
I’ve seen the TV shows and movies where white people go into a shop, rifle through the racks, make havoc and then leave without incident. I’ve even seen them indulge in a little light shoplifting, just for fun.
None of those matches my experience when I’m shopping. (And before you ask, I can usually tell if treatment is racially motivated because I see how salespeople treat the paler people who come through the door.)
No, You’re Not Being Served
In my experience, there are all sorts of ways that salespeople can let you know you don’t belong. Now, I’m not the kind of person that needs someone to be over helpful, but there are times when SOME help would be useful.
Sometimes I walk through the door, and I can see the salesperson sizing me up and deciding I’m not worth their time, without saying a word. (Interestingly, that experience also happens in Barbados, where certain shops are notorious for ignoring locals in favor of white tourists - white supremacy at work again).
Anyway, I don’t mind being ignored most of the time, because if I find what I want I can blow their minds by turning up at the cash register with an item and - gasp - the wherewithal to pay for it.
Sometimes, if you actually need help, it’s hard to find someone to assist you. I’ve lost count of the times when I’ve been assessed with an inaudible sniff, handed off to a junior colleague, or simply ignored, while the salesperson serves white customers or simply browses social media - anything to avoid helping me. And at the cash desk, I’m almost always the person who has to wait while they complete some suddenly urgent task.
Someone’s Always Watching You
Another iteration of this is when the salesperson comes up to you while you’re looking at an item, and tries to steer you towards the sale rack. Or to tell you - without you asking - how much the item is (as if you can’t read a price tag). I remember having this happen when I was with my sister and daughter. We’d each planned to buy something but ended up taking our business elsewhere. She lost three sales that day, and lost our business forever.
The worst of these experiences is when salespeople and security guards start following you around the shop from the minute you walk in. Even if you’re not aware of it immediately, you soon get that prickling at the back of your neck that tells you you’re being watched. Sometimes, they’ll try to pretend they’re doing something else, as if they’re tailing someone in a bad detective movie. At other times, they’ll stare at you challengingly, as if daring you to make something of it. I never do, but just live with the discomfort.
As for wreaking havoc in a shop, I wouldn’t dare. In fact, I do my best to maintain a low profile. If I’m shopping with my sister, and one of us says something funny and we start to laugh, we’re very conscious that we don’t want to get too loud - after all, some white people already think Black people are too boisterous. We don’t want to make things harder for the rest of the team.
“Do You Work Here?”
The other thing that happens to Black and brown people in shops is that white patrons mistake us for the sales staff. No matter that we’re clearly browsing the shelves, too. No matter that we’ve got a shopping basket at our feet. No matter that we’re not wearing the staff uniform. In some people’s minds, the color of our skin means we must be “the help”. Again, I know when I’m right because of the discomfited look on their faces when I say that no, I don’t work there. I’ve exchanged many an eye-roll with my fellow melanated shoppers over that one.
The Need to Be Squeaky Clean
Children aren’t immune from this treatment, either. I remember being in Target with my daughter who was around 7 at the time. I was at one end of the aisle and she was browsing the toy section. She found something that interested her and grabbed it to show me.
But as I spotted her running towards me, I also saw the security guard giving her a hard stare and starting to move in our direction. I had to explain to her then that she should bring me to the item rather than bringing the item to me. And on that same trip, I explained about being ostentatious about returning items to shelves, and making it clear that you weren’t putting anything in your bag.
Keeping the Receipts
So that’s why I find the shoplifting thing a little wild. As a Black woman, I wouldn’t dare. In fact, I double and triple check the removal of the electronic tags to make sure I’m not going to set off the alarms. And if they do go off, you’d better believe I have my receipt at hand. (Always get a receipt and a bag, if you don’t want people to think you’re stealing.)
Honestly, I attract enough attention just being myself without adding an actual crime into the mix. Unlike the items in the shop, that’s something I really can’t afford.
Who can relate? Do you have a smooth shopping experience or do you get followed around like a potential criminal? I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Thanks for reading,
Sharon
© Sharon Hurley Hall, 2021. All Rights Reserved.
Cover photo courtesy of Canva.
I am an anti-racism writer, a professional B2B writer and blogger, and co-host of The Introvert Sisters podcast. If you value my perspective, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription.
LOL. Of course, I can relate. But, unlike you, I'm more defiant, in that I demand to be treated like the valued consumer that I am. I see so many white people breeze past the "receipt checker" without a care. I stroll right by, too, daring the person to stop me.
As for the condescension, if I get a whiff of it, or if my wife is treated disrespectfully, we will leave our purchases on the counter and walk the hell out. Except that one time at Staples, when we bought TWO Compaq desktop computers at the same time. Suddenly, there was a "problem" with the credit card. My wife wasn't having it. She had prior experience as a retail cashier and she told that ignorant checkout person that all he had to do was call VISA and get an authorization number. Sheesh.
Ms. Hurley-Hall, your story appalled me that these not so small microaggressions still occur. But on reflecting on my reaction I see clearly the motives of why white people treat Black people so at the least dismissively, or at worse in downright rude manner. Black shoppers don't fit the white person preconceived idea of who they think Black people should be. As a result white people act out by not helping Black shoppers find what they need or, as you so accurately depicted, the cashier suddenly finds something more pressing to do than doing their job. I think you are seeing a phenomena called cognitive dissonance. When you see someone or thing that is inconsistent with your established ideas of that someone or thing. This causes a dilemma and the person can act only two ways- positively and excepting the new way or negatively by denial, anger, or being unhelpful in your case.
When I saw your heading, " Do You Work Here?" I immediately related to it. While I never had experienced it personally, It hurt me to see my wife asked that very question several time while on vacation in the Caribbean. Let me explain, we own a time share on St Maarten and two years ago on a resort we had been going to for the last 10 years the head of housekeeping walked in our direction and challenged my wife,"Do you work here?"It irked me the this women a black woman at that had disrespected my WIFE by making unfounded assumptions about why my wife was here. However, my face quickly softened and I softly chuckled as my unflappable wife said," No I don't work here, I OWN here."'Later when we were in our apartment I asked Tracey why she didn't bristle at her question, she responded by saying, " I've been asked that question so many times I used to it." Then with a little bit of insight I got a glimpse of the humiliation, disrespect, and stereotype Black people have to tolerate everyday. You can only turn the cheek for so long. What disheartened me the most is how in my protected privileged white boy enclave, I didn't have clue of the injustices Black people live through- not a clue. Luckily my wife, who doesn't take shit from one, quickly disabused of my naive ways. Only by my wife's efforts and reading stories from you and other people such as Marley K am I slowly getting a fuller picture of what it means to being black in America.