A few days ago I found myself in a peculiar situation. I was sitting in my favorite cafe in Brooklyn, The Flying Saucer. It's my favorite because it's a short bike ride away from the brownstone. It's owned by this half West Indian kat named Ian who's probably the most welcoming guy this side of the East River, and it's quiet. A perfect work day space to finish the outline for a TV pilot before the producer runs off to Costa Rica.
Cut to: A woman donned in Muslim attire at the counter having a conversation with the demure blonde Counter Guy. Music Score: A semi-loud mix of Van Hunt and something reminiscent of a quieter Kurt Corbain.
Close up on: The Muslim woman slamming her fist on the counter. She was accusuing the Counter Guy of covert racism. She claimed she saw something in his gesture that indicated discrimination against her Muslim-ness. She was telling him that every time she comes into the cafe he mistreats her in the same manner.
Now this concerned me a little. Had I been bamboozled? While I was enjoying Ian and his crew's hospitality, they were mistreating Muslim patrons? BTW, the cafe sits on a block of Atlantic Avenue inundated with Mosques, incense shops and a variety of Muslim-owned operations. I decided to leave this alone and write. Besides, the commotion seemed to be concentrated in one area anyway and no one else appeared too agitated.
Cut to: The Muslim woman demanding an apology for the counter guy's covert racist tendencies that, she believes, no one can see but her AND he ought to be ashamed of himself because he only treats her people like this and all the other people he treats like royalty.
Flip to: Me at the counter being nosey. Yeh, this was way too good to pass up.
By the time I arrived the Counter guy was warning the Muslim woman that if she didn't leave he'd call the police. Yes, she was THAT relentless. From interrupting his order-taking to the order-giving of other patrons. She told him to call the police because somebody should know what was going on at the Flying Saucer. The Counter Guy took the phone and walked over to the end of the counter and dialed. The Muslim woman followed and called him a punk and a girl for calling the police [a curious taunt for a woman in a shroud]. The Counter Guy decided to go out on the patio to make the call and yep, the Muslim woman followed.
I didn't know what to do. It was clear the Muslim woman felt the bolt of discrimination but her tactic of defense seemed... cruel. Which is okay, I guess, some people feel the need to drill the nail through the skull in order to make their point and teach the lesson against alleged racism. Right? But I had loyalty with the cafe and its crew. Blonde or not, Van Hunt or not, The Flying Saucer was my office. Besides, the Muslim woman was chasing the man around the cafe, literally. And yes, she was at least 150 pounds heavier than him.
By the time the Muslim woman gathered her things and left [the police were on their way] I was slightly convinced she may have been crazy. Crazy, as in needing a heavy dose of meds, or simply driven into insanity by micro-examining every inflection of racism in Brooklyn. Which, in truth, softened my guilt a bit for not knowing what to do when a 200 pound Muslim woman chases a 130 pound blonde hipster around a cafe. A cop-out? Maybe. But I had no idea what to do.