Life as a Middle Child

I don’t smoke weed.

Nor do I cast judgment on people who choose to smoke it. People are always surprised when I tell them I don’t smoke or drink (and everything in between). Maybe it’s because I’m young. Maybe it’s because my eyes are always red. Or maybe it’s all of the above, combined with the fact that I. Am. Black.

Live your life. Smoke your weed. Just don’t push your poison onto me.

Tonight, while walking to an audition for some music competition thingy, I was beckoned by two shady (white?) guys in a parked car. 

“Excuse me! Can you do us a favor, please?”

“What?” I asked, approaching the car cautiously.

They looked around shiftily. “Do you have any pot you can sell us?” Laugh not. They were serious.

My eyebrows raised as I crouched towards the passenger window. I was outraged. (Or at least my version of outraged, which is really just slight annoyance that belatedly blossoms into full-blown anger.)

“Do I look like I smell weed?” Crap! I was so taken aback by their ignorant question that I replied with a verbal typo. I corrected myself.

“Do I look like I sell weed?”

“Oh, no!” The driver replied, realizing the implications of his question. “No, sorry. We’re just looking for some. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend-“

“Right,” I replied coolly and walked away. 

I was annoyed. Bothered. Irked. That would make this the 4th time since I moved to this country that someone has bluntly asked me to sell them marijuana on the street. I can’t say with complete confidence that it’s because I’m black. But I definitely can’t rule it out as a factor, and can’t help but to feel that my skin is the primary reason, whether it is a conscious effort on the potential consumer’s part or not. The way I see it, would a white girl walking down the same street at the same time be propositioned the way I was? I think not.

So was it random selection? Was it the way I was dressed? Was it the fact that I have a head full of nappy hair? Was it the black guitar case strapped to my back? Or is it the black skin strapped to my bones?

I noticed that the black guy walking down the street behind me (dressed in a full-blown suit) wasn’t stopped and asked to do a little black marketing… pun intended. Maybe that’s what a Negro has to do these days to not fall into preconceived stereotypes. Wear a damn suit.

While it is true that as a college student I smell weed often, I definitely don’t sell it. Or smoke it. And I hate being stereotyped. 

I blame the media.
I blame ignorance.
I blame Lil’ Wayne.
I blame Mary Jane.