The New Racism

I was giddy. Sophia was laughing at me how fast I was moving with the luggage. I was three or four people in front of her.

She chuckled, “Don’t leave me!”

I would have to remind myself that I was not alone and would stop in my tracks. She would catch up and off again I was racing. I literally yanked her from the hydrojet to passport control. Once I got my stamp, I scurried out into the arrivals area.

I was in line for the bus when Sophia found me.

“Man, I have never seen you this excited!”

“Its Chris Brown! One of my all time favorites! I got to represent!”

Sophia looked at me strange and grinned ear to ear. “Now you are from the streets?” And she laughed at me and mimicked me. “I got to represent!”

When the bus arrived, I shoved on and we found a seat near the middle. And all along the short ride, I recapped all my favorite songs and background information I knew about Chris Brown. From his first release of “Run It!” to the song “Yo! Excuse me miss” and I added that I had watched both videos a million times to learn the dance moves.

Sophia was listening but not absorbing. And why should she? I had said the same things on the ride from Hong Kong to Macau. I was repeating myself.

Finally after the stop at the Four Seasons, the bus halted in front of the Venetian. We shoved out. I quickly dragged our luggage and Sophia did her best to keep up. The line to check into the Venetian was short but took long. It seemed that the checkout counter had three people per person to check-in. It went like this: one person typing in the details and two people watching over their shoulders – either learning or verifying or both.

Finally it was our turn.

“Welcome to the Venetian Macau,” the Chinese man said cheerfully. “How can I help you?”

“We are checking in.” I handed over my print out for my reservation and my Hong Kong ID.

The check-in guy typed something in the computer while the two people behind him watched. They said something back and forth in Chinese. “You staying with us just for one night?”

“Yes, that’s right.” And I was shifting anxiously on my feet.

Sophia saw me and laughed again. “You are so funny!” she said.

“Are you American?” the check-in guy asked striking up conversation.

I looked a bit shy. “Well now, yes, I am.”

He looked confused.

“Well when Bush was in office, I used to say I was Canadian. It was easier that way.”

Sophia had heard me say this a million times so she just smiled at me.

“But now,” I went on. “With Obama, I am proud to say I am American again.”

The check-in counter guy stopped typing and looked at me. “Really? Aren’t you ashamed?”

I stopped smiling. “What you mean? Ashamed?”

“Aren’t you embarrassed that your country is such a mess you have to elect a black man?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” I said exploding.

Sophia grabbed my arm and pulled me back. I looked at her and she nodded no.

The check-in counter man noticed I was offended. “I am very sorry.” And he went back nervously to typing on the keyboard.

There was an awkward silence.

“Mister Jackson, here is your room key. I upgraded your room. You are on the thirty-first floor.”

I took the folded paper with the plastic keys inside. “Thanks.” I answered half-heartedly.

He was a bit timid but then the counter guy went on, “I want to say I am sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. And if it makes you feel any better, I am ashamed of the party.”

I wrinkled my forehead. “Huh? What party?”

“The Communist Party.”

For some reason, that tickled me. “May-wan-tee. No worries.” And with that, I grabbed Sophia by the hand and we headed quickly to our room to change for the concert.

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