Last Night, I engaged in Racial Profiling……

As the first half of the Virginia game was winding down, I had a hankering for ice cream. I knew I had enough time to walk down to the new ice cream shop on Strawberry Street and get back home for the 2nd half kickoff.

When I was 3 blocks away, I saw two “men” about a block from the ice cream parlor.

The silhouettes of their body language and menacing presence was illuminated by the subtle Fan District, antique street lamps. They had that slow, shiftless, I have never had a job gait. The shadowy looking clothes were also a clue that trouble lurked around the corner. I was walking much faster than they were, and as I approached the neon ice cream cone lighting up the sidewalk, my fears were confirmed. They were who I thought. I was praying that they were not going to the ice cream shop, but they were…..

I Can’t Make My Mind Up. Boo Hoo!

When they opened the door, I burst in ahead of them, announced my order and walked to the cash register. They were wearing stocking caps ( despite the 70 degree weather) and even worse, they had on back packs! You see, I could not risk getting behind White Millennials at an ice cream shop. As I enjoyed my one scoop of vanilla on a waffle cone, I stayed around and studied this generational phenomenon. Exactly what I thought would happen, happened.

They couldn’t make up their minds.

They asked the scoop-arista about 40 questions and they tried about a dozen different flavors. I spend less time buying a car than they did deciding what kind of ice cream to buy. The angst on their faces was palpable. One of them was about to cry. I realize that what I did was wrong, and am going to check myself into a diversity training center. .