dude, where's my car?

every now and then, i get mistaken for a valet, because apparently people of color can't actually own the car they drive, they must be driving the car for a white person.

tonight, as i drove up to the parking deck at my nashville place, there were a bunch of people standing on the corner. i pulled into the ramp from the street, and an old white (60s, looked like thurston howell from gilligan's island) guy knocked on the window. i figured he was lost, so i stopped and rolled down my window. he tried to hand me something and asks if he can give me his valet ticket. the look on my face says it all. his wife looks mortified and says, "oh, he's not the valet." the guy looks confused. i know, it can be confusing when minorities are not there just to fetch things.

the funny thing is that gasparayan, my (nashville) room mate, was driving his car right in front of me, and the dude didn't stop him. so it's not like thurston stopped every driver. there was something that made him pick me out.

dr. wintermute (i happened to be on the phone with her the whole time, so she caught everything in real time) asked me, "so, do you still want to move to nashville?"

me: "well, this happened to me in atlanta awhile back."

"fine. do you still want to move to south?"